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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809680">Poppies In Her Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka'>dismalzelenka</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues'>LarasLandlockedBlues</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And the Sky Will Burn [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Addiction, Alcoholism, Angst, Blood Magic, Break up sex, Canon Butchery Part Two: Electric Boogaloo, Canon Typical Violence, Cheating, Consensual Hate Sex, Demons, Dirty Talk, Divorce, Dom/sub, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Implied Infertility, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Infidelity, Loud Sex, M/M, Mage Rights, Mage/Templar Conflict, Married Couple, Married Sex, Modern Thedas, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, PTSD Triggers, Part Two of a Story, Police Violence, Political upheaval, Pregnancy, References to Suicide, Rough Sex, Spanking, Submission, Trauma, Vigilante Justice, age gap, have we mentioned this whole thing started out as a goddamn brooklyn99 au, suicide ideation, we love you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:34:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A thick fog of uncertainty has blanketed Kirkwall City in the shadow of the upcoming Prime Minister election. The Free Marches are more divided than ever, mages are reportedly going missing without a trace daily, and a mysterious glowing red substance begins showing up in crime scenes across the city. </p><p>Abby is determined to investigate. Solona would rather binge drink herself to sleep every night. Rylee struggles to balance her duties with the Mage Underground with the terrifying prospect of impending motherhood when a ghost from her past crashes back into her life. </p><p>With chaos looming on the horizon, an increasingly polarized city faces a series of difficult choices, and a cornered group of mages sets off a chain of events from which there will be no return.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Amell/Cullen Rutherford, Female Amell/Jowan (Dragon Age), Female Hawke/Anders, Female Trevelyan/Male Hawke, Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And the Sky Will Burn [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1112292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Return of the Champion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After a brief hiatus, we have come to the decision to continue with this fic series. Thank you so much for those of you who have followed us here from part one. If you're just joining us, Part One can be found <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/14634084/chapters/33822852">here</a>. We've poured our hearts and souls into this AU and are beyond thrilled for its continuation. We understand this AU may not be everyone's cup of tea, and as always we do our best to keep the tags updated accordingly, but if we ever miss anything crucial, please feel free to let us know so we can add it to the list. </p><p>Much love to all of you,<br/>xoxoxo,<br/>Diz and Lara</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The air was normally cool, crisp, and salty near the sea. Unlike Ostwick, though, there were parts of the city where it was almost oppressively tangible, balmy instead of brisk, putrid and cloying to the senses. Here especially, the acrid taste of refuse and despair overpowered the refreshing breeze wafting off the sea before him. He'd forgotten just how nauseating pockets of this place could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darktown - the city beneath the city. A network of abandoned and rundown subway tunnels, connecting to the old sewer system, opened to this area where the docks met Lowtown. A soft glow reflected off the dark sea as he looked over it, twinkling shimmers from nearby boats the only source of light since the street lamp above him seemed to have burnt out ages ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a long drag off the cigarette he held, he checked his watch before studying his surroundings once more. In the distance a buoy flashed red at him, but besides the gentle rocking of the boats in the dock all was still. For half an hour now all he had heard was the soft splashing of the tide as it rolled beneath the pier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly he began to meander along the boardwalk, staring out at the blinking lights of buoys and a distant lighthouse. He listened intently as he continued his stroll, but considering this was still Coterie territory, there was a surprising lack of activity for this time of night. It took him a few minutes walking along the dark streets before he came upon anyone else, and he stopped as he considered the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there honey, looking for a good time?” a woman called, waving an arm to catch his attention before she struck a pose. She jutted a hip out, showing off neon fishnets, only miniscule booty shorts hanging from her hips. The fishnet bralette she wore left little to the imagination, but before he could politely decline she was almost elbowed aside by someone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or am I more your speed, good-looking?” a deeper voice called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking over the small cluster of streetwalkers slowly inching closer to him, he gave a smirk and sighed. “Sorry, lovelies, I’m on a tight schedule.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about that, Daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This voice was softer, the accent vastly different from the rough tones of Darktown’s residents. She slowly pushed her way to the front of the small group, and he realized she had been hanging back, watching him. The meager light of a half-burnt out streetlamp caught on wild golden brown waves that fell to her waist, and much of her beautifully tanned skin was on display for him. A tight white crop top and denim shorts were all she wore under an oversized navy zip-up hoodie, and bright white sneakers stood out against the muck of the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a few steps closer to him, her glossy lips stretched over a red lollipop as she looked him over. After pulling the lollipop from her mouth with an obscene pop, she pouted suggestively. “Think you could make time for me? Hm, Daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again the address made him pause, an ache starting low in the pit of his stomach. He could just imagine the things those full lips could do, even though he had somewhere important to be and didn’t need the distraction. Flicking his cigarette away from him, he took a moment and tugged at the canvas jacket he wore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t mind that it needs to be quick,” he told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” she purred. She turned to the others now slinking away in disappointment and winked. “See you later, dolls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that she followed him down the alley that led off the street, still twirling the lollipop in her mouth as she glanced around. “Wait, here should be good,” she said after a few moments walking in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to look at her, noticing her motioning him to join her in a shadowy doorway. If she hadn’t been moving he doubted he would have noticed her, and he admired how easily she melded into the dark of night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to resist he pushed her back into the alcove, his fingers digging into her hips as he pressed her to the wall. She smirked at him, batting her eyelashes as she slowly swirled the lollipop on her tongue. “What, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little minx,” he growled. “Did you have to proposition me like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was blending in, I couldn’t just follow you down the alley,” she explained, rolling her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Blending in?’ What else were you doing to blend in?” He rested one hand on the wall above her, leaning down until he was inches away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, are you jealous?” she cooed innocently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carefully gripped her throat with a hand, tilting her face up toward his. “You better not have propositioned anyone else, pet, or I’ll -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The breathed curse from her pulled him out of their flirtations, his whole body tensing as he noticed her staring behind him. Without further ado she tossed aside the lollipop and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him down to her, her gloss-covered lips smearing against his. Eagerly he returned the kiss, releasing his hold on her so that he could reach down, lifting her into his arms. Her long legs wrapped around his waist and she twisted her fingers into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As tempting as losing himself to the kiss was, the taste of sugary cherry on his tongue making him hard in his jeans, he kept his senses alert. Nearby he could hear footsteps on the damp asphalt, and then overeager rapping on a metal door. He pulled his mouth away and cast a covert look over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just one,” she breathed into his ear. “I haven’t seen more than five while I’ve been watching. And they - fuck, they all look like kids, or vagrants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as the door opened and an almost skeletal looking elf hurried within. “We’re right on the edge of one of the mage districts, that sadly makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many blocks away was that Thrask girl killed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three, I think,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alley was silent once more, and he released the tight hold he had on her ass so that she could slide to her feet. She tugged at her hoodie and zipped it together, and again she blended so well into the shadows around her that he had to squint to focus and see her. He always marveled at how she did that, how seamlessly she made herself disappear, no matter how many times he had seen her do it. They had spent an afternoon trying to teach him, but he was too large and brash, and they had given up, deciding their time was better spent in bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s our play? We’re outnumbered, possibly, but also they might be - indisposed,” she muttered. She brushed her hair off her face and pulled it into a ponytail as she crouched, peering around the corner at the metal door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never let being outnumbered stop me,” he assured her with a cocky grin. “If they’re doing what we think they are in there -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They could be even more trouble than normal,” she pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smirked and popped the collar of his durable jacket before he pushed its sleeves away from his hands. Flexing his fingers he noticed the soft glint of metal, still so strange and new, yet somehow it already looked as if it had always belonged there. With a glance at where she was digging in the small purse strung across her body, he noticed a matching glimmer from one of her fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get a lot of business, wearing that?” he teased softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced over her shoulder at him and stuck her tongue out, a line of bright red visible along its center from the lollipop. “For all you know, it got me more business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scowled playfully at her. “We’re going to have a serious discussion about that later, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Am I in trouble, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that she stood and began to sneak along the shadows on one side of the alley, and he followed as quietly as he could. Her footsteps were silent, even when she passed through a small puddle, and he smiled to himself at how well she was doing. The first time he had brought her along he had only worried, but she was far more adaptive than he had ever imagined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held a hand out to stop her, and carefully felt around the door, drawing on his magic. “Wards,” he murmured, and she stood back a few paces so she could keep an eye on their surroundings. After a moment spent focusing, he managed to dispel the magic guarding the door, and then gestured for her that it was safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she stopped before the metal door she gave him a quick wink and then crouched once more in the shadows. Casually he leaned against the decaying brick wall, folding his arms and looking up and down the alley while she worked. The presence of the magical alarms and traps confirmed everything he had suspected, and he felt his heart beat just a little faster than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me in first,” he reminded her quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she muttered, her beautiful brows barely furrowed as she worked with the metal picks in her fingers. The lock gave a quiet click and she smiled brightly, glancing up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl,” he praised. “Remind me to give you a treat later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, I’m keeping count,” she told him, and she removed the lockpicks and stuffed them back into her purse. She withdrew two sets of brass knuckles, elegantly flipping open the switchblades at their ends before she slotted her fingers into them. “Ready when you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay close, I’m going to put up a barrier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded silently, blending into the shadows as he reached for the door handle. He could feel her lingering behind him, within easy range of his magic, and knew that she was watching their backs as she always did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully he channeled his magic into a barrier that encompassed both of them, and then he slowly turned the handle so that he could open the door a crack. The metal grated along the ground as he did, and he grimaced as he worried over who might hear. He peered through the small crack he had created, but the interior was barely discernible, just a long hallway illuminated only by flickering, garish green magelight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no one in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing back at her, he waited for her nod before he opened the door enough for them to walk inside. They moved in unison, taking careful steps into the hallway as she closed the door quietly behind them. To their right was a door open just a crack, and he held a hand ready as he gently nudged it with his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clear,” he breathed, letting his gaze roam over the barren, dilapidated interior of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning away from it he continued forward, only aware of the presence behind him as a soft whisper, his nerves attuned to her closeness already, despite their brief time together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused before the darkened room at the end of the hall, weighing his options. Magelight would give them away to anyone who might be inside, but without it they could be walking into a trap. Glancing behind him he noticed the small glint of her eyes as she tried to search the dark room, and when she raised her gaze to his she nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath he drew on his magic once more, throwing a large burst of magelight toward the ceiling of the room. As soon as it sparked into being there were shouts of surprise, crashes as items were knocked over, clambering footsteps as the few people in the room scattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several ran for a door on the other side of the room, and a few rushed the hallway the disturbance had come from. Their eyes were blazing, but it wasn’t the glowing blue of fresh lyrium he had expected. Instead a reddish glow seemed to emanate from them, a sickly pinkish hue illuminating the path of their veins beneath their skin as if they were lit from within.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking the revelation off he focused on the two figures charging him, raising his hand and channeling the mana within him. Before he could cast he saw a shadow appear behind one of them, a sneaker-clad foot suddenly shooting out and hooking on their ankle. The target of the stealth attack stumbled, falling to the ground with a startled cry before they even seemed to realize what had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second opponent watched them fall and then threw an arm in the air, a crackle of red electricity swirling around their fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Garrett! Behind you!” Mara cried, and then she was darting out of the shadows to punch the mage in an attempt to interrupt their casting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned, momentarily surprised to find himself face to face with a shade. It was so close his instincts kicked in and he merely swung a powerful fist at it, driving it back so that he could put some distance between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, he preferred not to singe his beard with his next move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fireball he hurled at the shade engulfed it in flames, a piercing shriek accompanying the way it disintegrated into the floor. He quickly turned back to the fight behind him, just in time to see both mages push themselves to their feet so that they could scurry away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mara made as if to follow, but a sudden blast of spirit energy knocked her off her feet. With a strangled cry she fell on her back, winded and groaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distracted by the thought that she could be injured Garrett hurried to her side, and seeing their chance the two mages sprinted after the others through the other door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he snarled, but he knelt beside where Mara was slowly pushing herself into a sitting position on the cluttered floor. “Are you all right, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” she assured him. “Nothing you can’t fix later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smirked and offered her a hand, which she gratefully accepted so that he could pull her to her feet. She brushed herself off and then reached for the blade she had dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked around the small den, but he heaved a sigh when he saw that it was otherwise empty. Pillows littered the floor, threadbare rugs scattered about as if serving as makeshift cots. Syringes and other drug paraphernalia littered the floor between the rugs, and slowly Garrett began to walk amongst them, hoping to find anything useful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same as the others,” Mara muttered behind him. “Wait - there’s some baggies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knelt carefully, avoiding the dirty needles as she reached for a few seemingly empty dime bags. When she stood she held them out to him, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe my friend can take a look at them,” he told her with a sigh. “This one still looks like it has some in it. Andraste’s tits is that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off as he examined one baggie that seemed to have something like blood on it. When he held it up to the light, though, he saw that the reddish substance was inside the plastic, and moved with the fluidity of dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red?” Mara stepped closer, staring at the baggie he held. “Didn’t we find that at one of the other ones, that warehouse we did the first night we were here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did,” Garrett agreed, his voice muffled through his gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least we’re on the right track,” she pointed out. “Come on, we made a bit of a commotion. We should get out of here before the cops show up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Garrett pocketed the evidence he held while she put her blades away. They took one another’s hand and carefully made their way to the door their prey had escaped from, and he checked it for more wards before pushing it open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The docks,” he murmured as they stepped out, getting their bearings. “They could have gone anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we’d been able to question any of them.” Mara squeezed his hand after she said it, and then tugged him gently down the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leading her through the streets, he let his mind wander over what they had found. For two weeks now they had spent their nights following their leads, the clues that had brought him back to Kirkwall. He hadn’t expected to arrive at such a turbulent time for the city, but now he found his timing peculiar. Arriving on the back of Stannard’s announcement that the Templars were being reinstated felt suspect, especially when he didn’t know exactly who or what he was really looking into. All he knew was the trail that had led him back here after so many years away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrett stopped beside his motorcycle at last, and passed Mara her helmet from where it hung on the handles. “What say we call it a night?” he suggested. “Can’t follow up on this lead until the morning, and I believe I owe you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five,” she commented, and winked at him before she slipped her helmet over her head. “I made sure I kept track.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five? That doesn’t seem right,” he mused, pulling his helmet on as well. He swung his leg over his motorcycle, and felt her slip on behind him. Her arms tightened around his waist, and she scooted closer so that her thighs rested along his, the tempting space between her legs pressed tightly to his rear. “Did you count the number of times you said daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she hummed, and then giggled, closing the visor over her face. “Then it’s more like nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minus the warning and the two getting away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, but he could tell under it she was trying to hide more laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seven,” she answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be a long night, little minx.” With that he started his motorcycle, and they rode off through the dimly lit streets of Lowtown.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Where Has My Lover Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It doesn't make sense.” Tabris toed at the tape on the floor outlining where the body had been. “First the Thrask files disappear. Then, Amell gets swiped by the feds while looking for them, and now the intern she spoke to shows up ‘mysteriously deceased’ in an apartment three blocks from where the original body was found? And Vallen is insisting there's no connection? Hey! Are you even listening?” </p><p>Cullen looked up from his phone as Tabris tapped briskly on the screen. “Sorry?” </p><p>She groaned. “I swear Rutherford, if you're about to make me repeat all of that—”</p><p>“No, it's alright, I heard you, I just—” Cullen sighed and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I was checking on something, that's all.” The something he'd been poring over was his text messaging history with Solona—or rather, the worrying absence of responses on her part beyond simple one word answers—but that was a conversation he didn't feel like getting into right now. </p><p>“Please tell me you think it's bullshit too, because after what happened two weeks ago, this cannot be a coincidence.” </p><p>“No, you're right. Something isn't adding up. But I'm sure the captain had her reasons for telling us otherwise.” He frowned, kneeling to inspect an oddly colored red stain that caught his eye. “What do you suppose this is?” </p><p>Tabris squatted with her camera and snapped a few photos where he directed. “Doesn't really look like blood,” she mused. “Too red for how dry it looks. Paint, maybe?”</p><p>“Perhaps.” He stared at the stain, a prickling sense of unease creeping across his skin. It certainly could have been paint, but from certain angles, he could have sworn the stain <em> glowed </em>. He reached out a hand to touch it. </p><p>“Dude.” Tabris swatted his hand away. “Don't fuck up the evidence. What are you doing? Your head is in outer space today.” </p><p>“It's...nothing,” he said lamely. “I–”</p><p>His phone rang and spared him from further conversation. “Rutherford,” he grunted into the receiver.</p><p>“What are you doing after work tonight?”</p><p>Solona. After three days of radio silence, there she was: the single, solitary soul who occupied so much space in his mind these days he sometimes wondered how much capacity was left to devote to anything else. His heart raced at the sound of her voice, and he hated himself for it. </p><p>“Ah...good morning to you, too,” he finally stammered. He wanted to sound casual, to lock down the swell of his heart, pretend the intensity of his desire was anything but. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. </p><p>“I need access to the state license plate database. Can we meet?”</p><p>“I—I’m sorry?” </p><p>“I can’t talk about it over the phone. I need your help, Cullen. Please.” </p><p>“Solona, this—you can’t just—I don’t understand why—” </p><p>“I have to go. I’ll text you an address. Nine pm.” </p><p>“Solona—”</p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p>Cullen took a deep breath and choked back the urge to throw his phone across the room. He didn’t have it in him to unravel the emotions spooling tightly in his gut like twine. He forced himself to look back at the crime scene. Deep breaths, he reminded himself silently even as his heart pounded a deafening rhythm in his ears. </p><p><em> Amell (sent 9:37am): 124B East Foundry Rd </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Amell (sent 9:37am): thank you  </em></p><p>“Oh shit, was that Amell?” Tabris piped up as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket with a frustrated growl. “Is she okay?”</p><p>“Mind your own business,” he snapped. </p><p>She raised both hands in the air and took a few steps back. “Wow, fuck you too, I guess.” Shaking her head, she turned around, snapped a few more pictures, and began disassembling her camera. Then, she paused, set her camera case on the ground, and turned back to face him. “You know, Rutherford, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’ve been a real asshole to everyone lately. I’m not gonna pretend like it’s any of my business why, but you’ve got to get your shit together, man, because working with you these days is getting pretty fucking exhausting.” </p><p>“No, that’s not—I didn’t mean—” He grasped desperately for an apology that made it to his lips a few seconds too late as she picked up her camera case and walked away. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The sun had sunk low into the horizon by the time Cullen drove out to the location Solona had specified. 124B East Foundry Road turned out to be a dilapidated building in the old warehouse district that bordered the old Lowtown foundries. The air stank of acrid smoke and caustic chemicals, and underneath it all, the sour and earthy scent of rot and decay. Cullen parked his truck on the street in front of the building and glanced around uneasily, hand hovering over his sidearm as he exited the vehicle. He immediately felt his foot sink into a wet slurry of mud and cursed, regretting even that as his voice echoed off of the stone and steel around him. </p><p>The sidewalk, if one could even call it that, was outright crumbling into pieces here. He leaned into his truck for his flashlight and, clicking it on, gingerly stepped onto the pavement. The heavily graffitied architecture felt stifling, as though the buildings themselves were all screaming into the emptiness of the night. </p><p>
  <em> They Kill Our Children And Accuse US Of Pulling The Trigger!! </em>
</p><p>Beside the thick scrawl of black spray paint someone had crudely drawn the Templar Order insignia in dark red, heavy handed enough that the paint had dripped like blood from every stroke before it dried. Cullen shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as he cast the light from his flashlight around more of his surroundings. On the nearest street corner, a disconnected fire hydrant lay on its side in a pile of broken concrete and rebar. Across the street was the remains of a long abandoned car surrounded by soda cans, twisted scraps of dirty plastic, and old, shredded tires. He turned back to his destination and squinted at the letters and numbers nailed haphazardly to the front entrance. </p><p>
  <em> 124 Su te B. </em>
</p><p>No, this was definitely the place. </p><p>He cautiously tested the handle. The door didn't budge. <em> Damn it, Solona. </em>He raised a hand to knock. </p><p>The door opened right as his knuckles were about to touch the wood, and suddenly someone yanked him inside. “Could you make some more noise out there while you're at it?” Solona hissed as she closed and barred the door behind them. </p><p>“Prickly, as always,” he grumbled. “What did you—”</p><p>His back hit the wall as she threw her weight against him, circling her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. Suddenly his world was a wash of rose scented shampoo and cherry chapstick, soft lips and tingling fingertips. He'd forgotten this, the uncharacteristic warmth that always came as a surprise, the magic that hummed and radiated from her skin when her emotions became too much to hide. </p><p>Maker, he'd missed this. </p><p>“Sorry,” she said when she finally pulled away. “I, uh.” A rare, genuine smile played at the corners of her lips. “Might have missed you a little. Sorry about the radio silence. I was, well.” She gestured vaguely with her hands at nothing in particular. “You know.”</p><p>He didn't know, not exactly. As far as he knew, she'd dropped off the map two weeks ago, her contract and official credentials with the PD purged from the system without any warning. He'd heard about four different versions of a story that sounded increasingly outlandish with each telling. Watched a pained grimace creep across Captain Vallen’s face any time Solona's name was mentioned in passing. “A little more like her cousin than I thought,” she'd muttered once in frustration. “A real damn shame, that. She could have done this department so much good.” </p><p>“I missed you too,” he admitted. The rest was too much to parse through on a good day, and the headache gripping the back of his skull was a throbbing reminder that this was not one of those days. </p><p>He studied her face instead. The single flickering lightbulb in the center of the ceiling cast harsh shadows across her face that highlighted the bags under her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks in garish detail. Her clothes were far baggier than he remembered. Her trademark leather jacket hung loosely from her shoulders. </p><p>Fuck it. He had to know. </p><p>“Solona...what—” </p><p>Maker, he was about to regret asking this question.</p><p>“What happened to you?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The number of days Solona hoped never to relive were, at this point in her life, far too many to count. The day of her most recent arrest two weeks ago ranked fairly high on her running list of Worst Ever Experiences With Local Law Enforcement, and the fact that two such days had occurred within a week of one another after years of relative peace still left a sour taste in her mouth and a sick feeling in her stomach. </p><p>
  <em> Tell him the truth. </em>
</p><p>An all too familiar buzzing filled her head. </p><p>
  <em> Tell him the truth.  </em>
</p><p>What even was the truth? Three days of captivity and interrogative mind games by some government agency she was pretty sure shouldn't exist had left her with a tenuous grasp of reality as far as the past three weeks were concerned. Her shoulder still throbbed where traces of hex-laced bullet shards still remained lodged beneath her skin. Anders had painstakingly removed the bulk of them after her release, of course, but limited as he was by lack of equipment, there had been only so much he could do. </p><p>There was so much to tell. And so much she <em> couldn't </em>tell. </p><p>It wasn't that she implicitly sought Cullen's approval, although she would almost certainly lose it if she bared the whole story. How her fancy new black market lyrium injector pen was currently burning a hole in her jacket pocket. How she couldn't cast reliably without it now, thanks to the residual traces of lyrihexahydroline still leaching into her bloodstream. How she always quietly dialed the counter just slightly past the dose Anders recommended. </p><p>She certainly didn't want to get into the nightmares that kept her awake until sunrise and churned the contents of her stomach so hard she could barely hold down her meals. Or how the first person she always wanted to turn to for comfort these days was Jowan, or just how painfully she missed his familiar presence in her life, stressful as it had been at times. </p><p>In the face of what she'd walked away from, kissing Cullen had felt...empty, somehow, in a way she hadn't quite expected. His lips should have sparked fireworks, but she found herself instead craving the scent of bergamot and old books, soft hands and glasses that always sat slightly askew. She missed wine and portrait dates, the late night discussions of art history and political theory that continued on until the sun came up—<em> Maker, </em> when was the last time <em> that </em> had happened? </p><p>Cullen stared at her as she floundered and fumbled for an answer. There was a passably acceptable version of the story in there somewhere, buried beneath the ever present reminders of how much she'd lost of herself.</p><p>“It's...complicated.” She avoided his eyes and fumbled with a loose thread on the front of her shirt. </p><p>“How complicated could it be?” he asked. The concern in his eyes was maddening. </p><p>She'd forgotten how much that got under her skin. Concern from Cullen was too close to pity for her taste, and the way his eyebrows furrowed crookedly in confusion only stoked her agitation further. </p><p>“Just...just drop it, alright?” she hissed. He flinched at her tone but didn't press the issue. She gritted her teeth and dug through her pockets for her keys. “Anyway,” she said finally, clearing her throat of the awkward silence that loomed heavy over the both of them. “Follow me.”</p><p>And he did. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The apartment was shoddy at best, if not outright dangerous. Cullen eyed the cheap wood panel walls with suspicion. His gaze lingered on a sizeable hole near the floor, and he tried not to let his imagination wander about what had caused it. </p><p>This was mage territory, after all, and—</p><p>He caught the errant thought with mortified horror and forced his mind back to the present. </p><p>To <em> her.  </em></p><p>He didn't want to dwell on what she would think of him harboring such thoughts, although based on her cold reception he wondered if she could somehow see through him anyway. </p><p>A sudden motion in the corner of his eye sent his pulse racing. Solona just laughed and mashed the heel of her boot into the floor. </p><p>“Fuck, you’re jumpy tonight,” she said, nudging the squished body of a roach aside with a grin before kicking it into the corner. “Maybe I should have brought the ‘root, if I knew you’d be so on edge” she teased.</p><p>“I work for the--” </p><p>“Police force, yes, Cullen, we know. Some of us were there.” She snickered. “Were you always this much of a hardass? I seem to recall you getting very comfortable on my couch a couple weeks ago despite all of the...substances.” </p><p>He felt the heat creeping into his cheeks. How did she do this, this … easy banter that seemed to come as naturally as breathing? He couldn’t even blame his anxiety, not anymore, not when he knew even a fraction of what lurked beneath the surface of her carefree demeanor. She moved so fluidly from one face to another sometimes—spirited laughter, seething anger, impassioned confidence—and with each new version of herself the previous one seemed to melt away like it had never existed. </p><p>Just being in the same room with her kept him constantly off balance, but he’d be lying if he said a part of him didn’t like it, in some strange, masochistic way. In the same way that he often felt paralyzed by indecision, she gripped him by the collar and yanked him into motion, and the past two weeks without her around…</p><p>It was a sort of quiet he wasn’t sure he liked anymore. It was a restaurant after closing time, an empty parking lot after dusk. It was the muffled quiet of an empty nightclub bathroom, with just the slightest hint of music lingering as a reminder that there was something more out there, just beyond his reach. </p><p>He followed her down exactly four concrete stairs into some sort of storage room in what was clearly an even older part of the building. Crates and shelves littered with boxes and loosely wrapped packages of all shapes and sizes filled the space in front of him in a dimly lit labyrinth she navigated with practiced ease. “Where are we going?” he asked. </p><p>“You’ll see,” was her curt reply. </p><p>Finally, they reached the other side of the room, and she ducked under a tattered, moth-eaten red curtain, beckoning with one hand for him to join her. </p><p>“Solona, this is getting ridiculous; what are we doing h--”</p><p>“Smile!” an unfamiliar voice piped up, and a flash went off in his face. Cullen blinked. Suddenly unable to see, he instinctively reached for his gun, only to find empty space on his belt where it should have hung snugly at his waist. He reached in front of him and felt Solona close her fingers around his wrist. </p><p>“Shut up and don’t move,” she whispered.</p><p>“Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” someone else said. “You’ve <em> got </em> to be joking, Amell; you brought a cop here? What sort of game—” </p><p>“The kind that gets us information,” Solona interrupted. Her grip tightened briefly around his wrist before her fingers twined around his and offered a comforting squeeze. The knot in the center of his gut spooled tighter with dread. “Since you people tapped me about a week too late for any of that.” </p><p>“I don’t really see how that’s my fault,” Owen shot back. </p><p>“Creators, can the two of you stop fighting for more than ten seconds at a time? I’ve watched over children with more self control.” </p><p>The room slowly came into focus. Solona huffed and crossed her arms, stuffing her hands into her armpits. A sandy-haired young man stood on the other side of a scratched wooden table, face furrowed in agitation. Beside them both stood a elven woman with striking emerald eyes, phone in hand, camera app still active on the open screen. She slid the phone across the table at Owen, who caught it with a scowl. “Well,” she said brightly. “Are we going to see what he can find, or are we going to argue some more?” </p><p>“What, exactly, am I finding?” Cullen asked, the words tugging at the back of his throat finally making their way to his tongue. “Solona, I took a huge risk coming here. I deserve to know what I've put myself on the line for.” </p><p>“<em> I deserve to know what I've put myself on the line for,” </em>Owen mimicked harshly. “Fancy words, pig. You haven't helped anyone, yet.”</p><p>“Owen!” Solona hissed. “Enough!”</p><p>“No, you listen to me, Amell.” Owen jabbed a finger toward her. “Merrill vouched for you. Said you knew Olivia. That we could trust you. That you were working on finding her killer too. And then you said you could find us a lead on that license plate we found, and I said yeah, sure, what harm could it do, but <em> this </em> is not what I signed up for.” </p><p>Cullen felt his anxiety surge. This certainly wasn’t what <em> he </em> signed up for either, and part of him idly wondered what had possessed him to follow her here in the first place. There was a time in his life when he would have called for immediate backup in a situation like this, and every instinct was screaming at him to, at minimum, turn and run before things spiraled further out of control.</p><p>But Solona’s hand in his anchored his feet to the floor. She had a funny way of doing that, too. </p><p>He stepped forward, and the words fell from his mouth before he had a chance to rethink his actions. </p><p>“What can I do?” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Let Me Open My Eyes and Be Glad That I Got Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title comes from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ui9umU0C2g">"The Silence" by Manchester Orchestra</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Any chance you’re still interested in that drink? - Abby </em>
</p><p>The text had been impulsive, or at least that’s what she continued to tell herself as she made her way through Lowtown to the Hanged Man. Fidgeting with her phone in the back of the cab, she idly opened different message threads, chewing furiously at the blackberry gum she’d reached for instead of a cigarette.</p><p>
  <em> Solona (sent 4:47pm): How the fuck did you get this number? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bribed Varric. Told him I owed you something. Drinks on me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Solona (sent 4:51pm): … </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Solona (sent 4:51pm): yea ok sure  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Solona (sent 4:51pm): hanged man in 30?  </em>
</p><p>Abby closed the thread and glanced at the time, realizing she’d be early. With a glance out the window she saw they were almost there, but opened another thread to skim once more.</p><p><em> Lord Asshat </em> 🖕🏼 <em> (sent Thursday, 6:54pm): I’m still trying to get them to give me a clear answer on what charges they intend to bring, but I keep getting the runaround. Don’t worry, though, I’ll keep at them until they leave you alone. </em></p><p><em> Lord Asshat </em> 🖕🏼 <em> (sent Thursday, 7:03pm): I hope you’ve been doing well this week. I saw your article, it was fantastic. Take care of yourself, though, tensions are still high. As your lawyer, I’d recommend you stay out of trouble. </em></p><p><em> Lord Asshat </em> 🖕🏼 <em> (sent Thursday 7:04pm): As someone who cares about you, I’d just please ask you to be careful and call me if you need me. Looking forward to dinner next week, Kitten. xx </em></p><p>Chafing again, even though she had read the messages over and over since he’d sent them the day before, she looked back out the window. The cab pulled over to the curb and the driver put it in park.</p><p>“Here,” he told her gruffly.</p><p>“Cheers,” Abby said and passed over a few bills. She climbed out of the back seat, sliding her phone into the pocket of her leather jacket as she slammed the door with her other hand. From the outside, the Hanged Man almost looked closed - but then again it had the last time she’d come as well.</p><p>Pushing open the heavy front door she glanced around, taking in the dim interior and the grim faces that took a moment to stare at the new arrival. Ignoring them she walked through the bar, skirting a pool player lining up their shot with no regard to her passing behind them. Luckily there was an empty booth in a quieter corner, and she sank into one of the peeling vinyl seats.</p><p>A waitress stopped beside her table, merely raising an eyebrow as a greeting and silent request for her order.</p><p>“Double Mackay’s, neat, please,” Abby told her, grimacing slightly at the curt nod the waitress gave her.</p><p>“<em>Double Mackay’s neat please and thank you ever so much,</em>” a voice mocked from behind her, over-exaggerating the refined lilt of her accent.</p><p>“Solona. Charming as ever,” Abby greeted, glancing up as a tall figure stopped beside the table.</p><p>For a moment Solona simply smirked at her before she flung herself into the seat opposite. Her unruly black curls were loose around her shoulders, a white halter baring her thin arms and a hint of her midriff above tattered, paint-covered jeans. There was a square of white gauze over her left shoulder, clean, crisp white tape holding it in place.</p><p>Giving a bored once over of the bar, she leaned back in the booth, arms outstretched on the back of her seat as she swung her feet, clad in worn combat boots, onto the table. “So,” Solona began slowly, finally moving her piercing steel blue eyes to Abby. “What is it this time? I’d give you a blood sample, but that bastard over there already bled me dry.”</p><p>She jerked a thumb lazily as she said it and Abby followed the motion. Across the bar, familiar faces were crowded around the bartender. Anders shook his head, having heard Solona’s raised voice, and he cupped a hand around his mouth. “It was just two vials for your bloody lab work!” </p><p>Abby chuckled, accepting her drink from the waitress as she returned. She turned the same bored look to Solona, but plopped the second glass from her tray on the table. “Bacardi and soda, although Corff was confused if it was just one or two drops of soda…”</p><p>“He should know by now it’s one,” Solona deadpanned.</p><p>The waitress turned on her heel and flounced away.</p><p>“So - brought backup to us grabbing drinks?” Abby mused, glancing at the rowdy crew now grabbing a table in the middle of the pub.</p><p>Solona scoffed, shooting a small glare in their direction. “Babysitters, more like.”</p><p>Abby nodded stiffly, taking a deep gulp of her whiskey before she set her glass down again. “How have you been?”</p><p>“The fuck do you care?” Solona’s brows were furrowed into a deep scowl, her drink half-raised to her mouth as she gave a withering glare to accompany the question.</p><p>Abby sighed and glanced around, tugging at her leather jacket as she situated herself more comfortably in the crappy booth. “Listen, I - heard what happened two weeks ago, and I was - worried about you.” She met Solona’s skeptical gaze and heaved a sigh. “And also might be able to offer some help.”</p><p>“I see.” Solona picked absentmindedly at a splinter in the table as the seconds ticked by in increasingly uncomfortable silence. “Well?” she said finally. </p><p>Abby picked up her glass once more, swirling the amber liquid for a moment as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It was one more thing, one more favor to ask, and if she hadn’t known it could help she wouldn’t dream of offering. “My shitty ex,” she finally muttered. “He’s a damn good lawyer. He’s representing all the protesters, if charges are brought, and I was thinking - if you need a lawyer, well. I could convince him to help you out, free of charge.”</p><p>“Hah!” Solona barked out a harsh laugh. “Good one. Almost had me for a minute there.” </p><p>Grimacing, Abby finished the remainder of her drink in one go. “I’m being serious, Solona,” she insisted. “From what I’ve heard you could be in way over your head, and well...He’s a lot of things, but most of all he’s a winner. He could help.”</p><p>Solona narrowed her eyes, her entire posture instantly tensing. “What...have you heard, exactly?” </p><p>Abby considered, looking away as she realized Varric would likely never forgive her confessing what he’d told her. “From what I understand, some trumped up kaffas involving an officer in Wildervale. Even I can tell it’s...way more than meets the eye.” </p><p>“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” Solona deadpanned. </p><p>Abby shook her head and heaved a sigh. She had expected this, had known she was likely one of the last people Solona would trust. But she was determined to try.</p><p>Returning her gaze to Solona she leaned her elbows on the table and lowered her voice. “Look, that whole week, that whole weekend, was a fucking disaster. And in the midst of it, you get arrested for some - some <em> kaffas </em> that makes no sense?” She gestured a hand as she said it, driving the point home of how ridiculous the charges were. “I know we’ve had our - whatever you want to call it. But I didn’t want to sit idly by while they tried to hang you out to dry. If you want, I’ll call in another favor with my ex.”</p><p>Solona shook her head firmly, her expression sincere for the first time since they'd entered the bar. “Look,” she said. “I know you mean well, and all, but.” She grimaced. “No offense, but I'm not going to just blindly throw my trust at a guy you used to fuck just because he's good at swinging his dick around in court.”</p><p>“Solona,” Abby interrupted firmly. “Listen, you - you saved my life.” She hated how her voice cracked on the words, the flashes of memories that came to her mind. Turning in her seat she looked for the waitress, silently flagging her down for another drink before she looked back at the woman across from her. “I owe you, far more than just helping you out by calling John, if you’ll - if you’ll accept my help. Please.”</p><p>“You don't owe me anything,” Solona said. “Shit went south. We're <em> mages </em> in <em> Kirkwall. </em>Wasn't your fault you didn't see it coming. I just did what anyone else there would have done.” </p><p>“But no one else <em> did</em>,” Abby pointed out. “Especially after the way I treated you while I was looking into - into that video. Look, I’m not here out of guilt, I’m - I’m grateful. I’m so damn grateful, Solona. You could have left me in the streets, you had every reason to. Please, I mean it. I want to help you.”</p><p>A fleeting expression of sadness flickered across Solona's face. “You don't need to owe your ex a favor for me, Abby. That's - that's not - no. I'm not - <em> it's </em>not worth that.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t be the biggest one I owe,” Abby grumbled under her breath. The waitress appeared at her elbow and placed another double in front of her, which she quickly picked up to take a grateful sip. “At least think about it, okay? He’d be willing to help. I can...talk about it with him at dinner on Tuesday, if you’d like.”</p><p>She grimaced after she said the words, avoiding Solona’s gaze as she idly fiddled with a small crack in her rocks glass.</p><p>“Hey.” Solona reached across the table and rested a hand on Abby's wrist. “Are you - I mean - after everything…are you okay?”</p><p>Abby sighed and then let out an exasperated laugh. “Voids if I know,” she murmured. “Tried therapy, but...turns out most therapists don’t know how to deal with fallout like this. Considered going back to Tevinter for about...all of five minutes before I realized that wasn’t - wasn’t what I want.” She shook her head and lifted her glass to her lips, savoring the slight burn as the whiskey slid down her throat.</p><p>Solona shrugged. “Honestly? Wouldn't blame you one bit if you did. I'd be lying if I said I didn't fantasize about leaving. Don't really have a place to go, or the money to get there, but. I think about it too. This place just. Sucks the life out of you. Makes you tired, leaves you wondering what the point of it all is.”</p><p>“You know what’s funny? The minute I thought about leaving was the minute I realized I had to stay,” Abby muttered. She looked up, her tone firmer as she continued. “I already ran away from all of this once, but this - this was my home, it’s where I was born. I don’t want to see it destroyed, or torn apart. Not if I can do something about it.”</p><p>The laugh that escaped Solona's lips was heavy and bitter. “It was mine too, once. The thing about this place is, though...the longer you stay, the more it makes you want to burn the whole place to the ground.”</p><p>“At least if we were doing the burning, we’d have ideas of how to turn the ashes into something worthwhile,” Abby pointed out with a rueful smile. “Look, I’ve had peace, I’ve had comfort, I’ve had luxury. All it did was make me feel empty. Here - it’s been rough, but damned if I don’t feel <em> alive</em>, finally.”</p><p>“Cute,” Solona snorted. “Hope that lasts for you, but at least your heart's in the right place.” She reached out as the waitress passed by and unceremoniously plucked two shot glasses from the tray. The waitress just sighed in exasperation before turning and storming back to the bar. Solona snickered and plunked the shot glass in front of Abby with a crooked grin. “Well?” she said. “Here's to fucking shit up, then. Clink clink. Bottoms up, bitch.” </p><p>Abby smirked, taking the shot glass and tapping it against Solona’s before she downed it in one.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Rylee watched Solona and her little Tevinter friend in the corner booth with a sour taste in her mouth. She swirled the rest of her soda in its glass with the accompanying cheap pink plastic umbrella she'd specifically requested and scowled. “I don’t trust her,” she said finally.</p><p>Fenris scoffed and slapped another card on the table. “Solona or the little magister?” </p><p>Isabella played her turn and set both elbows on the table, chin resting thoughtfully in her hands. “I don’t know,” she mused. “She seems like she means well.” </p><p>Rylee narrowed her eyes and tossed the umbrella aside before draining the rest of her glass in one gulp. “A lot of people mean well, Isabella. Most of them end up fucking someone over in the process.” </p><p>“You're not wrong there.” Isabela finished her beer in punctuation. “What do you think, sweetheart?” She cocked her head to the side and looked at Anders expectantly. </p><p>He pursed his lips as he fanned his cards out in front of him theatrically. “I do appreciate a woman who bails me out of jail.” His other hand hovered over the cards agonizingly before he gave up and scratched his face instead. “Has anyone bothered actually listening to what they're talking about?” </p><p>“Does it <em> matter?” </em> Rylee pressed.</p><p>Fenris raised a silvery white eyebrow at him from across the table. “I think you're just stalling, mage.”</p><p>Anders pouted in mock offense. “I'm so much more than what these fingers can do, I'll have you know.”</p><p>“Can they play diamondback, or are they only good for wiggling sparks in people's faces?” </p><p>“Fine. Strip me of my coin and my dignity.” Anders flung two cards on the table with a dramatic flourish. </p><p>“She's a stranger, Anders.” Rylee scowled. “A stranger who barged in here demanding answers until Solona damn near blew the roof off the place. Why is no one more concerned about this?”</p><p>“Isn't she friends with Varric?” Isabela pointed out. “Why don't you ask him.” </p><p>“Everyone is friends with Varric,” Rylee said, clenching her fingers in exasperation. </p><p>“Solona is a grown woman,” Anders reminded her gently. “You can't expect to keep her under your watch every minute of every day for the rest of your lives.” </p><p>Rylee bit back another growl of frustration. She’d watched Solona go through more in the last month than most people did in their entire lifetimes. Sure, not everyone had the same bond with Solona she did. Not everyone had grown up with her and watched helplessly as a childhood friend and family member—practically a sister, really—got dragged away to Maker knows where. Made Tranquil, made to disappear. She shuddered at the thought. </p><p>There was a lot in this life that made her angry, and everyone who knew anything about her was well aware of the fact. As far as Solona was concerned, her anger was justified a thousand times over. </p><p>And everyone else seemed to have simply gone back to their lives like none of it ever happened to someone they cared about. </p><p>Rylee stood up abruptly, hands accidentally slamming the table a little too loudly to remain inconspicuous. “I need some air.”</p><p>She glanced over at the corner table, but it was empty now, and Solona and Abby were nowhere to be seen. Anxiety gripped her insides, and before anyone could say anything or see her throw up her soda she all but bolted for the patio door. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Still none of the badge numbers he ran were adding up.</p><p>The overhead fluorescents were giving Rylen a headache, and he sat back with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to shave, it must have been days since he had taken the time. All of his time in recent weeks had been consumed by work, by the fallout from the protests as well as his own digging into what had led to all the chaos.</p><p>Only everywhere he looked he found dead ends, threads that led him in circles but connected to nothing at all. Most of the badge numbers were inactive, belonging to retired or deceased officers, many of whom hadn’t been a part of the KCPD for years. Which meant somehow something more horrible than improper use of force was going on, though any attempt to find out what, exactly, was impossible.</p><p>It was easy at the moment to bury himself in work, and in all honesty he reveled in it. Rylen didn’t even take the time to be annoyed with the sour mood Rutherford had been in for weeks. In fact at this point they hardly spoke, but he barely took the time to regret even that much, either.</p><p>This, all of this, was wrong. He had already doubted, had already been suspicious and wondering if he was on the right side, and now…</p><p>Now he was certain the answer was no.</p><p>There was a time he believed in change from within, but he had learned the hard way that that was the easiest way to end up with a target on your back. Even after all of that nothing had changed, and he had been directionless, disillusioned.</p><p>Bitter.</p><p>His work here was supposed to be better — upholding the law, serving and protecting. That was what it said on his business card, on the side of the precinct. The words rang hollow to him now, and he knew that he was back where he had started. Working for people with agendas that served power and not justice.</p><p>Heaving a sigh he pushed his chair out from his desk, leaning back to stretch his shoulders and arms out. When he straightened once more he slid his mouse across the desk to wake up his computer, only to be confronted with the other reason he had a headache.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Templar Re-Enlistment — MacCallum, Rylen H., Knight-Captain, Retired</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Fmr. Knight-Captain MacCallum, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> This is an official follow-up to Deputy Director Stannard’s reinstatement of the Templar Order within the ranks of the KCPD. As you were honorably discharged at the time of the Order’s dissolution, and are currently serving in the KCPD in good standing we are reaching out to you. Based on your years of service, you are invited to re-enlist with priority to return to your previous rank or higher, with a generous matching bonus. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Please reply to this email within the month, with the attached application filled out as well as copies of your discharge records. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Thank you and we look forward to your re-enlistment. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Rylen glared at the screen, finger poised for a moment over the <strong>send</strong> button for the reply he had written out.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>With absolutely zero respect — no, and kindly fuck off. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Regards, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Rylen H. MacCallum </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Dragging a hand over his face he sat forward, getting closer to the screen as his head continued throbbing. He hit the delete button, holding it until his reply was gone. It had felt good to write it out, but he knew better than to send it — no matter how tempting it may be.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>To Whom it May Concern, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I have zero interest in returning to the ranks of the former Templar Order, no matter the umbrella organization it finds itself under. Please accept this as my official refusal of this offer, and any future offers. I would appreciate being removed from recruitment lists moving forward as well. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Warmest Regards, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Rylen H. MacCallum, Private Citizen </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>It was still snarky — still likely unprofessional. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to thank them for offering him the position when he thought back to what things had been like at the end. Now that he thought about it, too, they reminded him of how things were at present.</p><p>He wanted to do something, restless energy racing through him until his fingers nearly buzzed with it. This would come with blowback, he knew it would, even if it was simply in the form of shittier cases. That he was prepared to face, or worse if it came to it. Rylen simply couldn’t handle sitting by idly and helping the system as it was, now.</p><p>No...no, he wouldn’t be a pawn in all of this, like he had been. At the moment he could handle it, wade through the horse shite just a bit longer. Especially if he could use his time for good.</p><p>He slid his mouse from the <strong> send </strong> button to the <strong>BCC</strong> line and typed the email from memory.</p><p>
  <em> abigail.j.henderson@theherald.news </em>
</p><p>For once not even a thought of opening up their line of communication for personal reasons occurred to him. He pushed aside the lingering wounds he carried within him, somehow still so deep after such a short time knowing her. No, this was merely for her, for her work — and another way for him to feel like maybe he was doing the right thing. The fact that it would come without any accompanying message directed at her should help her understand; he was acting as a source, and she needed this information.</p><p>As he hit send, a small part of him remembered their first clandestine meeting, and he wondered if his decision really had been directed at her after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Some Doors are Open, Some Roads are Blocked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAUMCoD5I30">"Walls" by The Lumineers</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her walk back from the office was always a nice break. A chance to let her mind sort through the day’s work, figuring out which threads to follow once she was back in her hotel room, whiskey beside her and laptop open before her. In the past few weeks Abby had let work consume her, happy for the way it felt both like a distraction as well as a way to take action. She couldn’t do much else about what had happened; John was handling the court issues, she would only get in the way, and let her emotions get involved. So she left it to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Work felt like a way to make it all make sense, a way to work through it by working on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leiliana had tried to encourage her to take some time off, but she had rebuffed the suggestion, simply asking for her next assignments. She had yet to tell her editor about the other case that had been handed to her, the details of which she was still parsing out. It was such a strange investigation, with too many dead ends and even basic information was nearly impossible to find, and she didn’t want to take the story to The Herald until she had more to present.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As far as the email she had received…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, she wouldn’t think about it. Not right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She made her way through the familiar hotel lobby, thinking how strange it was that it almost felt like a safe haven after all this time. As she rode the elevator up to her floor she thought about what she would research first, thinking about how she’d meant to pull the deeds for the warehouse to see what might turn up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Approaching the door to her room she slowed, frowning as she saw that it was ajar. It was far too late in the day for housekeeping, and besides she’d had her ‘do not disturb’ on the door. Glancing up and down the hallway, she took a deep breath as she tried to steady herself, convincing herself she was just being paranoid. Maybe she’d forgotten to close it all the way when she left…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she knew better than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She readied a hand, drawing on her mana, and tried to push down the panic that was rising in her chest. Carefully she began to edge the door open, and let out an involuntary gasp when she saw the wreckage within.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entire room had been ransacked. Her belongings were scattered, suitcases dumped haphazardly on the floor, the contents littered about in a way that made her certain they had been searched. Hesitantly she stepped inside, eyes wide as she looked over the violation, her skin crawling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment later her heart jumped into her throat as she remembered the hard copies she had stashed away behind protective wards. Hurrying into the bathroom she lifted the lid of the tank on the back of the toilet, heaving a sigh of relief as she saw the files she had waterproofed and stashed within.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t found them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Releasing her wards and pulling them out she wiped them with one of the towels laying on the ground, and then placed them in her laptop bag. Grateful that she kept most of her work and files backed up and on her person or at work, she tried to steady her breathing, relieved that at least they hadn’t found these files. No one knew she was looking into the Olivia Thrask murder, except for the girl’s father and Dorian, and neither of them were likely suspects to her room being searched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made her wonder what the intent had been, and she shakily wandered back into the room, eyes roving over the contents as she tried to decipher what she could see. A piece of the hotel notepad paper was resting on her pillow on closer inspection, and she tentatively took a step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Go home, little magister. Stop digging if you know what’s good for you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her knees gave out and she sank to the edge of the bed, a hand over her mouth as she stared at the words. How had they known? Or found her? It wasn’t like her address at the hotel was listed anywhere…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dragging her hand through her hair she stared around the room, heart pounding wildly against her ribs as she tried to find her bearings. She wasn’t safe here, not any longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needed to call someone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John flitted across her mind, a tempting option to be sure. He had money, was powerful, even here in the Free Marches, and he was her lawyer at the moment. She should call him, he’d provide her safe haven in a heartbeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The realization that it wouldn’t be a safe haven in all respects though made her hesitate. He wasn’t one to push the matter, wasn’t one to take advantage, at least not in a way that left her in danger. But she would be weak, and he could be so charming, especially when he knew she needed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No — no, she wouldn’t call John.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Rylen.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought crossed her mind unbidden, and she found herself searching through her wallet for the card she still carried with her. She hadn’t put his number into her new phone, hadn’t been able to work past the pain and anger she carried with the memories. But he was a cop, and he’d want to know. He’d help her, she knew he would. After the email he had passed along, too, she felt more certain than ever that she would be safe with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have zero interest in returning to the ranks of the former Templar Order, no matter the umbrella organization it finds itself under.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That option came with its own danger still, similar to calling John, and she knew she wasn’t ready to open that door again. Neither attempt at possible reconciliation felt like a port in the storm, instead both felt like different storms in their own rights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They could help, they were both in positions to do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she couldn’t hit the call button, no matter how much she knew she needed to — either of them was the right choice, she needed to look at it realistically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No — not the only options…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her finger hesitated over Solona’s contact info, but in another instant she opened it and swiped to call, not allowing herself to doubt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy layer of leftover smoke from fireworks hung suspended in the air like a dry, gunpowder scented fog. A full moon cast glittering rays of light across Old Town Harbor and the trash strewn about the beach from a day of spring festivities, and the sound of crashing waves and the muffled, rhythmic thump of running shoes on wet sand drowned out everything else that mattered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sand soon gave way to pavement. Solona slowed to a stop at a crosswalk and felt the back of her throat tighten when she realized where she was. The massive drawbridge to the St. Justinia’s behavioral health complex loomed overhead and across the harbor, a behemoth of cold steel, reinforced concrete, and bad memories. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stoplight beeped. The orange countdown timer began flashing, the display missing a few working panel lights and blinking nonsensical pseudo numbers in no discernible pattern. A police car zoomed by at a speed that was definitely illegal and left behind the acrid stench of burnt rubber on asphalt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pedestrian light came on. The broken display meant the little stoplight person was missing a head, a leg, and half of an arm. It was comical, in a sharp, painful sort of way that hit a little too close to home. She scowled, kicked at the cement, and took off across the street and down the beach at a full sprint that quickly left her legs aching and her lungs heaving for air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were parts of Kirkwall City that remained alive at all hours of the night. She could see the lights of the nightclub district in the distance, and beside it, the blinking neon skyscraper advertisements of Fortune Square. In stark contrast, much of the historic district settled down for the night in a peaceful sort of repose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Due to issues with old infrastructure, many of the buildings here were only retrofitted with running water and bare bones electrical wiring. Bike paths and narrow, one lane streets lined the old Tevinter architecture that had somehow managed to survive wars and worldwide cataclysms mostly unscathed save for the main Chantry building in Hightown that, well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All that remained there now was a memorial garden: pristinely manicured greenery and stone monuments filled with the names of the dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Widespread devastation, the headlines read. Multiple, strategically placed charges throughout the city, timed to begin with the Chantry and ripple outward in a massive domino effect of fire, ash, and debris that ultimately leveled a good third of the city proper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes she looked at this garbage dump of a city and thought she'd likely still feel the same if it happened again today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Old Town remained standing. Something about the manufactured stone formula, some remnant of ancient Tevinter lost to the decay of time while, hilariously, the product of it remained a millenia and more afterward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump, thump, thump</span>
  </em>
  <span> went her shoes on the sand. One foot in front of the other, constant and assured without a second glance back, just like how she'd spent all of those years since her release. The lingering ache of recently healed injuries—a circular scar on her hip, another one stretched across her left shoulder—still throbbed lightly with moderate exertion. Hex poisoning always left weird scars and were frustratingly difficult to treat with magical healing, and Solona had the fortune of encountering it twice in the span of a single week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Par for the course, really, with how everything else seemed to be barreling downhill at breakneck speed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To all the bitch ass hoes that hate me the most, oh yeah, I hate you too—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ringtone she'd set for Abby cut through the stillness. She contemplated ignoring it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Doses and mimosas, champagne and cocaine—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. She was better than that. She sighed, stopped, and answered her phone. “Yeah?” she said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Out,” Solona said. “On a run by the harbor.” There was a concerning edge to Abby’s voice, a frantic undercurrent accentuated by a striking lack of the usual decorum she insisted on maintaining. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I - I just needed -” A heavy sigh, punctuated by a poorly concealed sniffle. “No,” Abby finally admitted. “No, I suppose I'm not, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona shuffled her feet through a pile of sand blown across the nearby sidewalk by the wind. “What happened?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s…” Abby hesitated. Solona heard the sounds of paper being shuffled around in the background. “Perhaps it’s better if you see for yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quick address exchange and a short cab ride later, Solona found herself in front of a surprisingly drab looking extended stay hotel with an equally drab, somewhat deserted parking lot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Knight’s Inn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a large, blinking sign proclaimed, several of the backlit letters beginning to peter out with age. The architecture was outdated by a decade or two, and the entire, rather utilitarian cinder block exterior was in desperate need of a good power washing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona took a quick picture of the front and texted it to Abby with the caption: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this the place?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>abby (sent 8:24pm): Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she sent back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not what I expected.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>abby (sent 8:24pm): Yes, I get that a lot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A room number soon followed, and Solona memorized the digits and stepped inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The jarring fluorescent lighting in the lobby against peeling lamination and slightly misaligned siding panels was a stark contrast to the new but garishly printed lounge furniture. Cheaply distributed panels of abstract art decorated the walls, themselves an oddly faded shade of turquoise green. The faint smell of lemon scented industrial cleaner lingered in the air. Her boots echoed on the dirty linoleum tiles as she searched the walls for room number plaques. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I help you, love?” the woman at the reception counter called out in a bored drawl, drumming immaculately manicured red nails on the counter. Dirty blonde hair spilled onto her face from the messy bun piled onto her head, barely drawing attention away from the prominent bags under her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Elevator?” Solona asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Down the hall to the left.” The receptionist nodded her head in the indicated direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona curtly nodded her thanks and fought down a looming sense of unease. The hallway lights flickering ominously overhead certainly didn't help. The carpet pattern—like most hotel carpets she'd seen, really—was a loud swirl of visual chaos. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quite frankly, she was struggling a little to reconcile imagining posh, perfectly put together Abby living in a place this mediocre. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator shuddered a little as it reached its destination. Solona idly flipped through her messages as she waited, trying to quell the agitation in her fingers. She just couldn't shake the fear in Abby's voice from her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After what felt like an eternity, the elevator doors groaned open to reveal another identically shabby hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At least the lights on this one work, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Solona thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could hear Abby’s lilt from down the hall and followed the sound to a door propped slightly ajar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ — no, no, please don’t. It’s fine, really — I’ve got it sorted…” The shaky words trailed off for a moment. “John, please, I’ll take care of it. It’s fine, you don’t need to come over. Really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona nudged the door open with her boot and whistled a sharp intake of breath at the chaotic scene before her. It was apparent Abby had done her best to tidy some of the mess, but she swept her eyes across the trash strewn on the floor, the pillows and sheets askew, the luggage still dumped unceremoniously on the floor. “Holy shit,” she breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby stood near the foot of the bed, pacing with an arm crossed before her, propping the other with her phone to her ear. “John, listen — I know you’re worried but I’ll be fine. You don’t need to come rescue me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Solona began hesitantly, suddenly feeling very much like an intruder in a place she didn't belong. She noticed how Abby jumped at the sudden address. “They, uh. Fire the housekeeping?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go, I’ll text you later.” Abby hurried to hang up the call, grimacing as she did. “They should fire security, only there — isn’t any. Thank you for — for coming.” She pocketed her phone and dragged a hand through her hair as she looked around at the wreckage of her room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you're—what the fuck even—you're welcome—” Solona gestured at the mess around them. “What happened?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby sighed, folding her arms tightly around herself. “I was at work, and when I came back my door was — open, just a bit. And, well…” She shrugged and looked around. “I found this note on my — my pillow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona took the paper Abby passed her and chewed on her lip as she read it. “‘Little magister,’ huh? Cute. Loses points for creativity. Wonder who the fuck you pissed off?” She set the note down and began to check the perimeter of the room. Every window latch, every cabinet, even the closet interior got a careful once-over. She peered into the bathroom and appraised the open toilet tank, plastic bag still duct taped to the interior. “Smart. Did they take anything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thankfully no. They didn’t find the files I had stashed there,” as she said it she gestured to the toilet. “I don’t even know if that’s what they were really looking for. No one knows I’m even looking into that story, and as for my others...I’ve pissed off too many people recently to narrow down who it could have been.” She paused and frowned, looking deeply troubled. “Whoever it is, though, they know about me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Must be one hell of a story for this kind of reaction,” Solona mused. She reached up and dragged her fingertips across the curtain rod. “Not finding any cameras or bugs, if that makes you feel any better.” She grimaced. “You should probably think about finding a different place to stay, though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby smirked ruefully. “Yes, they certainly made their point that they know where I sleep.” She glanced at the pillow after saying it, then quickly turned away. “I can always find a different hotel, or…something else.” She shook her head as she trailed off, as if fighting some thought that crossed her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona pursed her lips. “Thinking of shacking up with your lawyer, huh?” Abby winced, and she kicked herself internally. “Sorry,” she offered lamely. “I didn't mean it like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He offered but — I think that would be as dangerous as staying here, in its own way.” She shrugged, as if she’d said too much. “I’ll figure something out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, you could…” Solona trailed off briefly, thought about it for exactly two seconds, and blurted out, “You could crash with me for a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment Abby stared at her, eyebrows raised with surprise. Then she carefully rearranged her face into a small frown. “I wouldn’t want to impose, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona shrugged. “I mean. It's a one bedroom loft. It's a disaster most of the time. But the neighbor is friendly, and...like I said yesterday. We're mages in Kirkwall. Anywhere someone you actually know can watch your back is going to be safer than a hotel where anyone on staff can have access to where you sleep. You can have the couch until we can figure out how to arrange the place better. If...if you wanted.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Part of her bristled a little at her own audacity. Truthfully, the misanthrope in her chafed at the idea of sharing her space like this. She wasn't entirely certain what impulsive instinct had prompted her to speak up in the first place, but after the last couple of weeks, Solona found she didn't really have it in her to leave Abby out on her own without at least offering first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit, Abby would probably say no, but—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I — I really appreciate that, Solona. Thank you, if it’s — if it’s not too much of a bother,” Abby told her, following it with a weak smile. “Just for a few weeks, I can — find something else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona felt her anxiety spike again, but this time she felt a small flutter of something else: excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she said, dusting her hands off on her pants with a crooked grin. “Alright then. Let's pack up the rest of your shit before whoever did this finds out where you live now.” She bent over and picked up the overturned suitcase, setting it down on the bed with an unceremonious flop. “You’re not allergic to cats, right? Raz doesn’t really understand boundaries.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corners of Abby’s eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Yes, we’ve met,” she said. “And I don’t believe that will be a problem.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The halls of the university were quiet, classes in progress in the rooms branching off, slight chatter from a nearby study room mingling with the snippets of lectures they could hear. Beside him Mara giggled, and interlaced her fingers with his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awww, this is making me so nostalgic,” she told him, turning grey eyes up and coquettishly batting her lashes at him. “Remember how we met?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett heaved a sigh, smiling wistfully. “Feels like it was only yesterday I walked into that classroom, pretending to be a lecturer. Oh how the weeks have passed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mara smiled, nudging his side with her shoulder until he released her hand so that he could wrap his arm around her instead. He held her possessively against him as he turned them to follow a hallway, and leaned down to press a kiss on the top of her head. It was a fond memory, the way she had challenged his expertise, the way she had clearly seen through his joking facade of ‘guest lecturer.’ The way he had convinced her to let him take her against his car in the parking garage after class ended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not even three months had passed since he’d impulsively asked her to marry him while still inside her, only to have her just as eagerly say she would. The guest name tag on her loose, cream sweater read ‘Mrs. Hawke,’ and every time he caught sight of it, he smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Pavus — that’s the one, right?” Mara slowed as she asked, pointing at a nameplate on the wall beside a simple oak door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s him,” Garrett agreed, and he instinctively looked around the empty hallway before he raised his knuckles and rapped loudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in,” a deep, polished voice called, and Garrett opened the door and led Mara within.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The office was small, full of tidy heaps of books in front of the overflowing bookshelves lining the walls, odd assortments of magical trinkets scattered throughout the room and on the tables. A large cherrywood desk took up the center of the room, two simple wooden armchairs waiting before it. Behind the desk was a large, plush maroon wingback chair, and upon it a man with dark waves and deep golden skin sat studying the pair who entered with a curious thoughtfulness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how may I help you? It’s office hours but you don’t have the look of a student about you,” he greeted, and then his eyes wandered to the name tags they wore and he frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Dorian Pavus, yes?” Garrett asked, and at the nod he received he stepped forward and held a hand out over the desk. “Garrett Hawke, we’ve been corresponding for a few months about —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Dr. Pavus interrupted, accepting the outstretched hand with one that bore several beautiful rings on his long, well-manicured fingers. “It’s been a few weeks since our last correspondence, I didn’t expect you to show up in the flesh. Please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestured to the seats before his desk, and Garrett gratefully sank into one, slouching comfortably as he canted his legs. Mara moved to stand near one of the bookshelves, looking over the titles of the many books crowding the dark wood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your companion is…?” Dr. Pavus raised an eyebrow as he watched Mara, and she shot him a warm smile over her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, you’ve just got such a wide selection — Mara Hawke, it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she told him, finally turning back around to offer him a hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your sister?” Dr. Pavus asked, but then he glanced at the tag on her chest. “Ah. Apologies. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hawke.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mara gave him an impish wink before she returned to scanning the room, enthralled by everything it contained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, to what do I owe this visit, Mr. Hawke?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett visibly shuddered. “Please, Garrett is fine,” he corrected with a smile. “I figured a visit in person was finally due, considering everything we discussed. We came to Kirkwall about — oh, was it about two weeks ago now, pet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mara hummed and tapped her chin as she thought. “A little less than two,” she suggested over her shoulder. She picked up an orb that rested at the end of one of the shelves and nearly cooed. “Oh, this is beautiful —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please! Put that down,” Dr. Pavus cut in, eyes wide as he watched her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She carefully set the orb back in its stand and held her hands up apologetically. “Sorry.” As if finally deciding it was best to take a seat, she sank into the one beside Garrett, pulling her long legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Garrett continued as if nothing had interrupted. “We’ve been looking into the connection in Ostwick and it, I suppose unsurprisingly, led us to Kirkwall. As we’ve been trying to find out more, we found these. At several locations in Lowtown and Darktown, seemingly abandoned, but in reality — lyrium dens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted in his seat and reached into his pocket, carefully pulling out the plastic baggies they had found. Dr. Pavus sat forward in his seat, frowning as he accepted them from Garrett. With a wave of his hand the lamp on his desk turned brighter, and he held the plastic beneath the light to study.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” he hummed, turning the baggies in his fingers and watching the lingering dust shift within. “Is that —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Red. We found it at a couple of locations, including the last one in Ostwick. A shipping warehouse, with concealed crates labeled from Kirkwall. Here it’s been more frequent, as well, and the people we found at the dens…” Garrett trailed off as he tried to think of how to describe it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They had the glow of lyrium but it was red, pinkish under the skin, like their veins were clearly running red, not blue,” Mara supplied with a shrug. “And their magic was — different.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett nodded at this. “More powerful and yet also — more chaotic. Lacking finesse and control in a way that felt — suffocating to encounter. And their ability to reach into the Fade and call Shades at a drop of a hat was...awe-inspiring in a distinctly terrifying way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Pavus’ eyebrows rose high on his forehead, and he studied the dust for a few moments longer before he set the baggies down. “This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Is it possible it’s just laced with another drug?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett shrugged. “I’ve considered that, but the way it affected them...I’m not certain that’s all. I was hoping you could study it, or maybe know someone who could. All I know is it seems dangerous, and finding its source is my top priority.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you an investigator?” Dr. Pavus frowned as he eyed the pair before him, as if he doubted the question even though he had asked it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a way,” Garrett began, but beside him Mara giggled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s The Champion,” she interrupted, shooting a proud smile his way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned sharply at her, but was distracted by the way he saw Dr. Pavus registering the pronouncement with a small bit of surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, how fascinating,” he murmured. “A vigilante come to Kirkwall, that should certainly solve more problems than it creates.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett grimaced and shook his head. “I just want to stop the spread of — whatever this is. And please,” he shot another scowl at Mara, “keep that little tidbit to yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mara giggled once more and simply gave him an innocent shrug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll deal with you later.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even as he thought it he knew she could read the look on his face, and flushed under his stern gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll admit I’m at a loss for how or what this substance is, but I am keen to look into it. I’ll see what I can find out here, and in the meantime perhaps I can help you find out more.” Dr. Pavus sat forward as he pulled a stack of sticky notes to him. “A dear friend of mine is an investigative journalist. She might know more, or how to find out, track down some leads for you. Give her a call, I’m sure she’d be eager to meet The Champion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett heaved a sigh, but reached for the note he was offered. “Abigail Henderson? I feel like I’ve heard that name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes, her recent articles have been causing quite a stir. You can trust her, though. On that I give you my word.” Dr. Pavus stood, gesturing a hand to the baggies on his desk. “May I keep these for now? Run some tests, see what I can find out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, of course. And I’ll be in touch if I find anything else to help you.” Garrett stood as well, and Mara followed suit, turning to lead the way to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your time, Dr. Pavus,” Garrett told him, reaching out a hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dorian is fine, Garrett.” He took his outstretched hand and smiled. “Well, welcome to Kirkwall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garrett chuckled, not wanting to correct the man that it should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>welcome back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you around,” he said instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held the door for Mara, and when it closed behind them he tangled a hand in the hair at the nape of her neck and hurried her to a nearby doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Little minx, you shouldn’t be telling people who I am,” he chided, pushing her against the wall as he pulled at her hair to arch her neck. “We work anonymously, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s our ally, darling. It’s fine, he needed to know who was coming to him for assistance.” She held his gaze without flinching, meeting his annoyance with simple fact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated when she was right, when she was able to see what he ignored. Mostly he hated it because he loved it so much, the way she had fit into his life so gleefully, had settled into it all without batting an eye at what he did. In fact, she’d seamlessly slipped into his work, doing all she could to help and proving what a valuable advantage she could give him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The annoyance slipped into desire at the realization, reminded of the fact that he had found the perfect partner — in every way. His lips devoured hers, hips pushing her into the wall behind her punishingly. She melted into the embrace, arms looping around his shoulders as she sighed against his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time I’ll ask,” she apologized when he finally released her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time I’ll bend you over my knee, no matter who’s around,” he growled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she told him, giggling coyly when he gave her a stern glare in response. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Snowball Effect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We are still updating tags as we go, so there are a few new tags on there and that might be the case most chapters. :-)</p>
<p>xx,<br/>Lara &amp; Diz</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If it were possible for a Monday to feel even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a Monday than usual, that was how Cullen felt when he dragged himself into the precinct that morning. The cup of coffee in his hand had to have been his third one by now, but no amount of caffeine seemed to shake the exhaustion from his eyes. In truth, at this point it was mostly making him jittery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Last night had been another late night of staring at the ceiling wondering when his brain would allow him to finally drift off. His and Hannah’s court date drew closer by the day, and even the passing thought of it filled him with a crippling sense of dread. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was easier some days than others, to think of her as his ex-wife. It would be easier still to picture if their separation had been ugly, but the truth, as always, was harder to face: he was a danger around their daughter, and no amount of sugar coating would take that sting away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Emilia’s dance recital is at the Ostwick Performing Arts Center on 2 Bloomingtide. First group goes at 3pm, but her age group doesn’t dance until 4:30. She’s got a great solo routine lined up, she can’t wait to show you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t get Hannah’s text out of his mind, either. He’d promised her. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised</span>
  </em>
  <span> her he’d be there, but despite his best efforts he still couldn’t shake the dread that came with the idea of his daughter enhancing her routine with magic. What if something went wrong? What if she lost control and hurt someone...or herself? What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn’t sit through it without breaking down? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What kind of father did that make him? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Rutherford,” Evangeline greeted as he stepped off of the elevator. “You look preoccupied today. Is everything alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said hastily. Too hastily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evangeline furrowed her brows in worry. “Alright,” she said. “You know,” she added quietly, “if the counselors here aren’t suited for you, I could help you find someone else. The care center where Cole’s therapist works, they cover a wide range of needs—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said I’m alright,” Cullen repeated, quiet but firm. He appreciated Evangeline’s concern, but the thought of voicing the bulk of his problems aloud, to another living, breathing person…well. After an already disastrous string of appointments with counselors who didn’t fit what he needed, he didn’t think he was ready for that again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Evangeline backed off, expression neutral. “If you change your mind, you can always let me know,” she said softly before disappearing into her office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bit back a sigh and hurried into his own office before anyone else could approach him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen's desk—usually neatly organized with minimal clutter, was a disaster zone of paperwork scattered every which way, with half used up legal pads covered in numbers and pen scratches and half-assed doodles filling in the spaces that weren't already occupied. The trash bin by his desk was overflowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janitorial staff emptied the bins on Friday nights, so the man had to have been working over the weekend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set his briefcase down and rubbed at his temples, not bothering to turn on a light. He’d promised Tabris a morning of cross referencing crime scene photos across state databases, but the thought of even looking at a screen made his head throb even harder. He groaned, hand over his eyes, and rummaged in a drawer for a bottle of pain medication. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three firm, decisive knocks sounded on the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in,” he said gruffly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aveline stood in the doorway, outlined in a halo of light from outside the office. Her expression was stony and grim. “I need to see you in my office.” She turned and walked away before he could respond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tightly wound knot of dread spooled in his gut as he set his jaw and followed her. No one else was at their desks yet except for Evangeline, tapping away at her computer behind her office door, looking up momentarily to peer at him curiously through the blinds. He approached Aveline’s desk, and she eyed him, stony faced and solemn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Close the door, Rutherford.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door scraped on the worn carpet beneath it, and the sound set his teeth on edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have a seat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was too tired and in too much pain to do more than ease himself down across from her with a puzzled expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know why you’re here today?” she asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, ma’am,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed heavily, the first expression of emotion he’d seen in her face since she approached him today, and slid a clipboard across the desk, setting a pen down on top of it with a firm clicking sound. “I need you to understand how much this pains me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t understand—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tapped at the clipboard in response. </span>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Confirmation of Administrative Leave, Effective Immediately.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Detective Cullen S. Rutherford,</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>This letter is to inform you that you are being placed on approximately 30 days of paid administrative leave, effective immediately, 5 Cloudreach, 20:18 Cataclysm. This leave is to take place for the duration of an investigation into your actions on 18 Drakonis, 20:18 Cataclysm. Throughout the duration of this administrative leave, we request that you refrain from entering the precinct grounds or speaking of/participating in ongoing investigations until such a time as you are scheduled to return to work or are otherwise notified.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>We are expecting the investigation to be concluded within approximately 30 days. If further disciplinary action up to and including termination is found to be warranted according to the results of the investigation, you will be notified as soon as possible. Please ensure that the contact information for you that we have on file is correct so that we may reach you during the administrative leave if necessary.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>If you have any questions or concerns about this matter, please call Minerva Cassovara, Internal Affairs Case Coordinator and leave a message. Contact information can be found on page two. We appreciate your co-operation in this matter and hope that the situation will be resolved in a manner that is satisfactory to all parties involved.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Yours sincerely,</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Minerva C. Cassovara</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Internal Affairs</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Case Coordinator</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>He stared at the paper, wracking his brain to remember what had taken place on that day. His head was spinning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does the name Jeremiah Wyatt mean anything to you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aveline’s voice cut through the fog in his brain. She stared at him expectantly, hands clasped in front of her. Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t give him the chance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened in Wildervale, Rutherford?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gaped, trying to find a way to relay the unbelievable events of that night. He told it as well as he could, how he’d pulled up in his truck to find Solona held at gunpoint by two men in Templar garb, how the situation could have gone so much worse, how they’d dragged the limp body of their fallen comrade back into the van. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wyatt. Jeremiah Wyatt. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The name clicked into place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wyatt was killed by friendly fire,” Cullen said abruptly. “Fired on by his own men.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not the story that’s on record,” Aveline said grimly. “According to the report in my inbox, Wyatt was killed by </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> bullet. The casing submitted to evidence matches your gun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not possible,” Cullen said firmly. “He was already on the ground by the time I got there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aveline narrowed her eyes. “Then how do you know he was killed by friendly fire?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Solona—Amell saw it happen. They shot him trying to get to her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Aveline noticed the slip up in address, she didn’t say anything about it. She sighed. “And how do you know her version is trustworthy?” she asked bluntly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen shook his head in confusion. “Why would she lie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re letting your bias cloud your perceptions. Think about it from a stranger’s perspective; why </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> she lie?” Aveline pointed out. “She’s a mage who was almost detained by Templars. Her shooting one of their men is very, very damning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With all due respect, ma’am, this incident took place three days before Deputy Commissioner Stannard reinstated the Templar division. As far as I understand, that unit isn’t even supposed to exist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you see why the elements in this story aren’t adding up, then,” Aveline countered. ”Not to mention you claim to show up on the scene with a man already down, supposedly shot by his own men, and yet your bullet appears in the evidence report. I’m not saying I believe anything quite yet, but surely you understand how this looks on paper?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen banged his hand on the desk, perhaps a little harder than he intended. “I don’t see what you’re getting at, Captain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to put it as plainly as I can. You have a concerning track record here, Rutherford, and this latest incident is just the icing on the cake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean my past misdeeds have been overlooked because mages were the victims of my indiscretions,” he said testily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Rutherford, that is not what I am saying at all.” Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed at her eyes. “The events of two weeks ago have, for good or ill, shined a spotlight on this precinct in a way that will put every single one of us on our toes going forward. You’re a good detective. You always have been. Losing you on our team is genuinely going to hurt our numbers. But even aside from the Wildervale incident, I worry your infatuation and rather tempestuous relationship with Miss Amell is clouding your ability to focus on your work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen stood up abruptly. “That is not fair,” he hissed. “If I recall correctly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> placed us together, despite both of our protestations. If we are in the business of passing around the blame, how are you not equally culpable in this mess? How was your judgment of hiring her in the first place not equally questionable?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My mistakes have already been addressed,” Aveline said icily. “I suggest you stand down and watch your tone. I am merely relaying to you the gravity of the situation and my concerns regarding the way everything has unfolded.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To what end?” Cullen pressed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is for you to decide.” She tapped at the desk. “I’m very sorry, Rutherford, but I will be needing your badge and gun for the time being.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the time being,” he repeated. “You say this as though you expect the outcome of this situation to be anything other than what we both expect.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t predict the future,” she said simply. “It is my sincere hope you are able to return. This entire department—and every single one of us in it—will be worse off if not. I suggest you take the time off to get some rest and perhaps, if I may speak freely, seek some more intensive treatment for yourself as well. You’ve been running yourself ragged for a long time. I suspect you will need a clear head for what may come to pass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Cullen’s turn to narrow his eyes. He wasn’t sure which part of her statement begged more of a response. “What do you think may come to pass?” he finally settled on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leveled at him a long and steady stare. “Chaos.”   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Solona lingered awkwardly outside of the drab block of apartments, pacing back and forth on the cracked sidewalk. It was further on the outskirts of town than she'd imagined, a solid thirty minute commute from downtown and her own adjacent garden district loft. She couldn't believe Cullen made this commute every morning, but the more she pondered it the more it seemed to fit him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe that's why he was always in such a bad mood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leaned on the wooden fence slats, phone in one hand, discount bundle of flowers held awkwardly in the other, and tried to wrack her brain for something to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi, thanks for letting me involve you in illegal activities this weekend. I'd like to bang soon. Here's some flowers. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groaned and kicked at the concrete. She was absolutely useless at this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her messages pinged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Sparks, got a job for you if you want it, should be an easy weekday grab. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Weekday?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swiped to her calendar and felt like an absolute idiot. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Monday</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of course Cullen wouldn't be home right now. She shoved the phone into her back pocket, yanking the keys from her jeep's ignition as it idled in the single open visitor parking space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she could leave the flowers in his living room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached his building, and then his unit, and jiggled the door handle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...maybe she could break in and leave them in his living room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tongue between her teeth, she set the flowers on the faded welcome mat and summoned magic to her fingertips, ghosting them across the doorknob and familiarizing herself with the layout of its internal mechanisms. She eyed the rest of the entryway. The door itself was a lifeless shade of dusty green, and the little window above it looked like it had been cleaned exactly once: the day it was installed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the lock. Based on her own perpetually unkempt front step, she didn't exactly have much room to judge here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a few deft motions of her fingers, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The interior of the apartment was dark. The single living room window was covered by a dark blue blackout curtain tacked to the wall with a mismatched collection of pushpins. A drab grey futon lined the center of the left wall, the sagging grey cushion barely clinging to the frame. A stained wooden coffee table covered in nicks and scratches held a TV remote with the batteries removed, an empty plastic water bottle, and an old newspaper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She picked up the paper and peered at the headline on the open page: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Local Ballerina Wins First In State Solo Competition. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Accompanying the article was a color photo of a tan, brown-eyed little girl in a leotard holding a trophy and sporting a beaming, gap-toothed smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ostwick Times, dated six months ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She set the newspaper down, suddenly uneasy, and placed the flowers gently next to it. Maybe it was time to go—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Solona?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jumped, barrier springing up on impulse as she whirled around at the sound of the front door creaking back open. Cullen stood in the doorway, looking far less alarmed at the sight of her in his apartment than she would have given him credit for. Her barrier flickered unsteadily and fizzled out of existence as she straightened up with a sheepish expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi?” she offered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I even want to know what you're doing here?” he groaned. He set his bag down on the floor with a clumsy thunk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gestured awkwardly at the flowers. “I was going to meet you here to thank you for your help the other day, but I guess I forgot it was a weekday—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you broke into my house...to bring me flowers?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” she ventured slowly. “It does sound creepy when you put it that way. Admittedly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. “How — how did you even know where I live?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can find pretty much anything on the internet.” She bit her lip as she said it. “You know what, that doesn't really sound any better, does it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed, and when he met her eyes his face seemed more ragged than usual, a stormy and unreadable expression in his eyes. “What are you really doing here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona frowned. “I told you already. I just wanted to, shit, I don't know, spend some time with you?” She scuffed her boot on the carpet and shook her head, irritation mounting. “Why the fuck can't it be as simple as that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> simple with you,” Cullen hissed. “Two weeks, Solona, two weeks of silence, and then you call me out of the blue to, to what, </span>
  <em>
    <span>use</span>
  </em>
  <span> me for your little private investigation? And now you just happen to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside </span>
  </em>
  <span>my apartment when I get home early from work, and you, you expect me to believe you just wanted to ‘spend some time with me?’ Just how gullible do I look to you? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maker</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can't believe I've just been letting you string me along this whole time—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solona lunged forward and slapped him, a full open palm smack against his face that left him staggering back from the force of it, angry streaks of red blossoming on his skin. “Using you?” she screeched, barking out a laugh that rang harsh and ugly against the walls. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Using </span>
  </em>
  <span>you? You really want to pull that line on me right now, Rutherford? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> you for your help. I said it plainly when I called you. You knew exactly what I wanted from you when you walked into that apartment on East Foundry, so let's not pretend I fed you some bullshit line to twist your arm to come do something you didn't want to do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffed. “Oh, that's typical. Shift the blame onto me so you don't have to feel bad about dragging me into your chaos. I'm done with this, Amell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dragging you into my — are you for fucking real?” Solona could feel the air heating up around her in her fury. “Of course.” Now it was her turn to scoff. “Just when I think I can let my guard down around you, just when I think ‘maybe I'll pull my head out of my ass for once and be genuine and grateful,’ of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> you would see ulterior motive in that. I don't know why I ever expected anything less from you.” She elbowed her way past him towards the door. “You want to know who's responsible for dragging your ass into chaos all the time? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look in a fucking mirror.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught her arm in an ironclad grip, bruising fingers closing painfully around her bicep. “You,” he growled through gritted teeth, “are </span>
  <em>
    <span>infuriating.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sparks flew from her fingers as she tried, unsuccessfully, to jerk away. “You're an uptight, self-righteous ass.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a dark glint in his eyes, wild and unrestrained in his anger as he backed her into the wall. “I wish,” he spat, punctuating each word with another threatening step, “that I had never met you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mouth went dry. He loomed over her despite their relative lack of height difference, brimming with pent up frustration. His face was flushed, chest heaving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His cock strained in his pants and pressed conspicuously against her thighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The truth comes out,” she breathed, nudging her knee between his legs. He shivered, breath quickening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don't push me,” he whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” she taunted. “I thought you hated me.” She ground her body against him, reveling in the way his resolve visibly weakened with each motion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” he spat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smirked and leaned in until her face was inches from his, mouth brushing against his lips in challenge. “Prove it, then,” she whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a strangled growl his lips crashed into hers. He pressed her into the wall, teeth capturing her lips, bruising, biting, </span>
  <em>
    <span>claiming, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she closed her eyes and lost herself in the intensity of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She undid the buttons on her pants with shaking hands, shook them off of her legs, and kicked them out of the way. Her fingers caught on his belt buckle, but when she tugged at it he reached between them and caught her wrist in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grip would definitely leave bruises. The thought of it sent a thrill through her spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scraped at her collarbone with his teeth, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as hot breath ghosted across her neck. He was everywhere all at once: sweat, aftershave, and elderflower cologne enveloping her as his presence all but devoured her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wrenched her arm free from his grasp and slipped it down the front of his pants, hand closing around his cock. She teased the tip with her thumb and felt him twitch beneath her fingers, a ragged groan slipping from his mouth as she pumped him agonizingly slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught her wrist again and pinned both arms above her head with one hand. She let out a breathy laugh as he dragged his fingers through her slick and pushed them into her mouth. She pressed her tongue against his fingertips, not once breaking eye contact as she reveled in the salty, musky taste of her own arousal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He guided himself to her entrance and drove himself in with a single thrust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she was so wet, he was met with hardly any resistance at all. His pace was quick and punishing, and when he let go of her hands it was all she could do to wrap her arms around his neck and hold on. He gripped her buttocks tightly and fucked her, a rhythmic </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump thump thump </span>
  </em>
  <span>against the cheap apartment drywall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't take long for her release to begin to build. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, nails digging deep, angry marks into his back as she keened, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, Maker, please</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She angled her hips to match his thrusts, an involuntary, animalistic cry falling from her lips as he hit the perfect spot inside of her and fucked her higher and higher until she felt pulled taut like a piece of wire, each movement mounting the sweetest sort of agony in her core. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wrung her end from her stroke by stroke, each one punctuated by her frantic, desperate moans. Her body felt charged with lighting, power threatening to spill from every pore as her orgasm crashed over her in unbearable waves of bliss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought frantically through the haze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, fuck, I can't lose control, not here, not with him—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Weakly, she released one hand from his shoulders and directed the energy through her fingertips and into the middle of his living room. The dim space lit up with color, hundreds of twinkling orbs of light dancing across the ceiling as she rode out the last of the aftershocks, trembling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he were alarmed by her display, he didn't show it this time. He pulled out of her and spun her around, her face shoved into the wall as he found his rhythm once again. She let her mind drift as he fucked her to his own end, one hand braced against the back of her neck, the other grasping for purchase against her stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a sick sort of satisfaction in making him lose control like this, she decided as he came in her with a muffled grunt, lips pressed to the back of her head. She could watch his composure drop all day and never tire of it. And if there was the tiniest nagging sensation of guilt in the back of her mind, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>certainly wasn't going to be the moment she chose to examine it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He withdrew from her and mumbled unintelligible curses under his breath as he stalked away. Solona leaned against the wall, a half smile lingering on her lips as she surveyed the orbs of magelight still twinkling against the ceiling. She wiped the sweat from her brow and bent down to find her jeans when a towel flew across the room and almost hit her in the face. She caught it and straightened up to find Cullen standing awkwardly next to a basket of loosely folded laundry. He was in moth-eaten grey sweatpants now, bare chest shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does this—” He cleared his throat and gestured uncomfortably at the gaggle of lights on his ceiling slowly winking out one by one “—happen often?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged, holding on to her mask of indifference. “Only when it’s good,” she said blandly. “Sort that out however you want.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her phone vibrated on the floor several times in quick succession. A spike of anxiety shot through her body, and she dove down to retrieve it. Suddenly, it was very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> important to keep whoever that was out of Cullen’s eyesight. She shoved those feelings back down too, deep into the rapidly growing pile of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Things She Should Definitely Unpack But Probably Never Would</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jowan❤️ (sent 11:45am): I've packed up the last of your things. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jowan❤️ (sent 11:45am): Please come get them soon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jowan❤️ (sent 11:46am): I've found your digital tablet from school as well. Still works. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jowan❤️ (sent 11:46am): It's packed up with everything else.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cringed at the emoji next to his name. It wasn't that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to change it, necessarily. She'd just never gotten around to it, that's all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everything okay?” Cullen asked. The question fell awkwardly from his mouth as he stood there watching her, elbow leaned uncomfortably on the dingy breakfast bar. It was the pose of someone unaccustomed to his circumstances, someone who was so out of his depth he had no frame of reference for his behaviour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fact that he chose to ask about her wellbeing tugged at a part of her she’d rather ignore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s—” she glanced at the texts one more time before stuffing the phone into her pocket. “It’s nobody.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll be partnered with Barris for the time being.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Aye, for the time being.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know it’s a lot, and I hope Rutherford will be back soon as well.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not what’s temporary about the situation, Captain.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look on Aveline’s face after he had said it swam across his mind as he flipped the switch of his apartment’s hallway, heaving a sigh as he let his door swing behind him. It had taken everything in him not to throw his badge on the desk right then, fed up with it all. Now as he looked around his meagerly decorated, lonely apartment, he wondered why he hadn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After removing his holsters and shoes he wandered into the kitchen, searching his barren fridge for a beer before he cracked it open and drained half of it in one go. He couldn’t fully reason out why he hadn’t left already, until he thought about how often he’d stared at a blank text message during the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell her. You want to do good, that’s why you’re still here. Tell her about the suspension, about what doesn’t add up. Even you know it doesn’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His mind had repeated the reasoning, trying to convince him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he hadn’t been able to compose the message. Abigail hadn’t replied to his email, though he hadn’t expected her to. She did leave her read receipts on, though, and so he knew — she had read it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen hated the part of himself that wanted a reaction from her, that wanted her to reach out for more information. He hadn’t meant to reopen their lines of communication, but he had almost vaguely hoped that she would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mostly so that he could apologize.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their last fight still played in his mind each night when he tried to fall asleep, and he longed to be able to tell her he hadn’t meant any of it. That he shouldn’t have said it, and that he wished he hadn’t lashed out to hurt her as he had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That he...missed her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a groan to himself he drained the rest of his beer, still standing before the fridge, and then opened it again for another. Once he’d popped the bottle cap off he meandered into his living room and flung himself onto the sofa, legs outstretched on his coffee table. He hadn’t paid any attention to the case that had been passed to him, nor what Tabris had tried to catch him up on, nor anything Barris had said. Instead he had spent the day hunched over his computer, still searching for any clues about the missing badge numbers, the arrest reports without names attached to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes he wondered if he was working so hard at it so that he could ask Abigail to meet, to pass it all along to her. To blow the case wide open, and in doing so…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Win back forgiveness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached for the remote, longing for a distraction to what his mind seemed intent to fixate on, but as soon as the news blinked on he groaned and turned the TV off. Instead he reached for his phone, still open to the blank thread it had been all day. Shaking off the impulse he closed it and searched another instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey m8 — Cap told me what happened. Figure u need a drink. Usual haunt, 30 mins?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Setting his phone on his leg, he continued sipping at his beer as he waited. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, really, outside of short, clipped sentences about work. He hadn’t asked if he had also gotten the reenlistment email, or worse yet what he was going to do about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Rylen hadn’t told him what he had done…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quicker than expected he got the reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Rutherford (sent 6:34pm): You have no idea. See you there.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen pushed himself to his feet and immediately made his way to the door, grabbing his keys and putting his shoes back on. The drive passed in a blur, merely on autopilot as he made his way to their bar. Parking was easy to find since it was a Monday, and he hopped out of his car to seek the relief of dimly lit, familiar surroundings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was seated at a booth with a whiskey before him when Cullen finally made his way into the bar, and he waved him down. Looking him over as he approached, his only thoughts were that his partner looked worse off than he had anticipated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his mouth, a greeting at the tip of his tongue, when Cullen held up a hand. “Don’t say it,” Cullen grumbled. “I look a mess, I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen buried his chuckle in a palm and instead shrugged. “All right. I won’t say it then, mate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen slid into the booth and flagged a server down. “Whiskey, please,” he muttered. “Double, neat.” He dragged a hand across his face and sighed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really did need the drink,” Rylen muttered. But he nodded as he raised his own. “What a week, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All one day of it,” Cullen deadpanned. The server set his glass on the table, and he took a long, steady sip. “I suppose I should find something to occupy my time these days, then, shouldn’t I?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smirk tugged at Rylen’s lips, and before he could stop himself, he muttered, “A lass is always good for that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the look that briefly passed across his friend’s face, he wondered if he should have kept it to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen shuddered and let out a strained, incredulous laugh. “I think perhaps I may have found the one lass who consistently makes all of my problems worse.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That so?” Rylen’s brows furrowed as he considered the other man, thinking how only a few weeks of not talking felt like it had caused a chasm to open between them. “Amell mixed up in all of this too, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She broke into my house today,” Cullen said, waving his hands in front of him helplessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen snorted despite himself. “To murder you, or fuck you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, she—” Cullen cleared his throat and shook his head. “To leave me flowers, apparently.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So — undecided then on the murder and fucking. Got it.” Rylen gave his friend a wink, unable to resist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he’d laugh — maybe he’d hate him. Either way it was fun to watch him shift uncomfortably in his seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen leaned over and buried his face in his hands. “No, we did that too,” he mumbled. “The, ah, fucking I mean.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen let out a bark of laughter, clapping Cullen on the shoulder. “Well, at least today wasn’t a total blasted waste then.” He sighed and released his hold after giving a reassuring squeeze, thumb momentarily digging under his collarbone. “I am sorry, mate. I keep feeling like I missed something, like I should have been there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s cutting it a bit close on boundaries, don’t you think?” Cullen said flatly, but a smirk spread across the corners of his mouth as he spoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was such a rare thing for the normally stoic man to crack a joke, and for a moment Rylen merely stared at him. And then his mirth finally overcame him, such a strange feeling after the previous weeks that it almost felt like old times. “Aye, you got me there. I don’t need to see that, even if you’re a bonny pair. Eh, wait, I take it back — maybe I would like to see that —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Maker,” Cullen laughed, the first full belly laugh Rylen had heard from him in weeks. His expression sobered and turned thoughtful, then. “I don’t know. Perhaps if you’d been there you’d have talked me out of making what I’m fairly certain was a colossal mistake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before he took a gulp of whiskey, considering. But he shook his head and looked down at the table. “Nah, I doubt I would have been much use to you there, mate. I’ve been making too many blasted mistakes of my own lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The sort that cost you your job?” Cullen asked. He traced abstract patterns across the table with his fingertips. “I don’t — I don’t know how it got to this point, to be honest. I…” He trailed off into silence for a moment, downing the rest of his drink in a single gulp before continuing. “I mean. You know how that first meeting with Amell went. She’s this...embodiment of chaos, MacCallum. Unprecedented circumstances follow her around like, like little clouds.” He wrinkled his nose at the metaphor. “I keep asking myself why. Why we’re even here, doing what it is we do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence that settled over them was heavy, and the events of weeks and days past settled in his mind as he thought it over. There was a time he had been so sure, first with the Order and then with the PD. But now, hearing his own doubts spoken in his best friend’s voice, he knew that he didn’t have an answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it was to serve and protect, to help, but.” Rylen scrunched his nose as he leaned back against the booth, stretching an arm out to the side on the seat’s backing. “I feel like I did when I had — misgivings about the Order. When I saw things I couldn’t support and was told to fall in line. I — I don’t think we’re on the right side, mate.” He heaved a sigh and leaned forward, dragging a hand through his hair. “What I think — Maker’s balls, I don’t even know how to fully explain it. But the mistakes I’ve made, the ones in recent weeks that just — snowballed. Got out of hand...I can’t help but think they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> costing me my job. Not because they’ll fire me.” He grimaced slightly after he said it. “Just because I think they’ve opened my eyes and this — I don’t think I want to be a part of it anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen wrinkled his eyebrows. “What sort of mistakes are you talking about?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen quickly looked away in search of the server, and silently raised his glass to beg for another. He should have seen the question coming, considering how close to the vest he had played it all. “The lass, that journalist, I — I just let my emotions get in the way.” He shrugged. “When she was arrested I thought like a — a man with a cock, instead of a cop with a badge.” But he let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe I needed to realize there’s more to life than the badge, though. Especially when you aren’t certain who’s holding the leash anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shot Cullen a frown as he realized something. “You check your emails recently, mate?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen sighed again and shook his head. “No, now that I think about it, I haven’t in a few days. Maybe the meeting with the Captain this morning would have come as less of a surprise if I had.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen chuckled. “Aye, maybe. But that’s not why I was wondering.” He shifted, adjusting his pants at the knees.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their server stopped beside the table and set another whiskey before him, then turned a silent question to Cullen. At his nod they turned and walked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Reenlistment emails went out.” Rylen said it simply, knowing it was best to get it over with, to avoid dancing around it, no matter the effect it may have on the other man. After all, they both had their own experiences with the Templars...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen barely reacted at all. “Ah,” he said, a thoughtful expression on his face. “So, are you?” He asked finally. “Reenlisting.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The snort he let out at the idea was unintentional, and even surprised himself. As if it was completely preposterous to think he would. He felt the corners of his mouth tug down and he shook his head. “No. Did my best to tell them in the politest terms to feck off. Those days are behind me and I have no intention of going back.” He picked up his glass and took a long drink before raising his gaze to Cullen. “What will you do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Assuming the administrative leave situation resolves itself, which is...unlikely—” Cullen mulled over the question, staring into his glass in contemplative silence. “A year ago, I would have been desperate to go back. To serve.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen tilted the glass he held on the table. “And now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Truthfully, I don’t know,” Cullen admitted, a pained expression on his face. “I find myself torn often these days. Between duty and...and what feels like the right thing to do.” He shook his head. “And Amell seems to just...be right in the middle of both of those things sometimes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen smirked, shaking his head before he raised his whiskey to take a gulp. “Lasses, mate. You and me both.” He chuckled and studied the amber liquid in his glass, trying to think how he could make it make sense without giving the lass away. “Does yours make you question everything before you met her? Like you — realized maybe before her you were a total arse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen scowled. “She’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he retorted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither is mine, but they’ve still left their mark,” Rylen pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The server brought Cullen’s drink, and he promptly took a long, grateful swig before grimacing. “I’d say it’s likely she brings out the worst in me </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen laughed. “True, you have been a bit of an arse lately. More than usual.” At the glare he was met with he merely shrugged. “I only meant — maybe we were wrong. Just think, Amell — did she really deserve all that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Cullen answered, shaking his head definitively. “If there is any certainty here it’s — no. No one deserves what she went through.” His lips pressed together in a thin line, his expression dark. “Maker, no.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Casually waving one hand, Rylen held Cullen’s gaze. “Aye, I agree. And I…” He trailed off as he considered how much to divulge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were still partners, in his mind, even if Cullen was on suspension and he was considering leaving too. But he didn’t know if the other man would be interested, or care to get involved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen.” He leaned closer, looking over his shoulder even though he knew he was likely being paranoid. “Things don’t add up. I’ve been looking into it for weeks, and — something’s not right. Badge numbers, arrest reports, pictures, even the shite with Alrik and that video  — it’s making me batty how many dead ends I’ve found. And now you’re on leave for what’s surely a half-arsed charge, while we’re both getting reenlistment emails…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen smiled weakly at that. “Your faith in me is inspiring,” he said dryly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen waved away any notion that that was true. “You’re my partner, mate. We’ve been friends longer than I can remember. I like to think I know you well enough to know when something’s off.” He paused and chuckled at a memory. “I almost turned in my badge today when the cap’ told me. It was just one more thing, and I — I hate to see you thrown to the wolves like this. Everything going on, it’s…” He let out a low whistle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A right mess?” Cullen provided helpfully. He picked at a scratch on the table. “Something is definitely going on behind the scenes. Captain Vallen hinted as much. ‘Chaos,’ she said, was on the horizon. I don't much know what that could mean, but I surmise it won't be good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As if chaos hasn’t already found us all.” Rylen dragged a hand over his jaw, scratching at the stubble he still hadn’t bothered to shave. “‘A right mess’ is putting it lightly at this point. The more I look, the more none of it adds up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen sighed and drained the rest of his drink. “I — think I need time. I appreciate the faith, and the offer of something to occupy my time.” He ran a hand through his hair and shot Rylen the briefest hint of a smile. “But I have things to take care of, and right now I’d — likely only slow things down as you look into them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rylen nodded, and raised his glass in silent toast before he polished off the rest. “Aye, I understand, mate. Just don’t go disappearing, all right? I’m a text or call away, and you’re always welcome to join me in my shenanigans. Just like old times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hearty laugh met Rylen’s words. In the midst of the world falling apart, it was nice to see his partner still able to enjoy his company.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. So Much for Reunions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Updated tags for smut.</p><p>And I hate just stating age if it doesn't make sense within the storytelling, so there have only been hints about the age gap between Garrett and Mara so far (and was tagged from the start). However there are a lot of insinuations about her age in comparison to his in this chapter, so I'd just like to take this chance to make it clear: Mara is almost 23, and Garrett is 37. In the short time they've been together, she has always been an adult capable of making her own choices. - L</p><p>Thank you as always for reading, new readers and return readers from Book One alike! We're so happy you're here &lt;3</p><p>Lara &amp; Diz</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Don’t you have a job?” Corff scowled at her from across the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rylee shrugged and leaned back in her stool, propping her feet up behind a set of beer taps. “How do you know this isn’t my job?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t work here,” he said flatly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she pressed, “but what if Varric hired me </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically</span>
  </em>
  <span> to push your buttons on a weekday morning while you open for a shitty lunch service that will barely break you guys even?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one’s that cruel,” Corff muttered. “Will you at least buy something instead of just taking up space?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andraste’s blessed bosom, I thought you’d never offer.” She swung her feet off the bar and leaned forward, shit eating grin blossoming on her face. “A large Coke and one of those massive bowls of nuts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Norah snorted as she straightened up tables behind them. Corff just shook his head, muttered something darkly under his breath, and slammed a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar next to an empty glass he filled with the soda gun before dropping the nozzle back into its holster with a wet thud. Rylee plucked a straw from the caddy and chewed on the end of it before unceremoniously jamming it into her drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maker, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she missed booze. She missed cigarettes. She missed being able to come home and shotgun a beer or three after a particularly trying day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worst part was fielding off the questions about her newly found sobriety. “I’m mixing it up for a change,” she’d said blandly the other day, and thankfully no one seemed to really question her antics at the time. Long term, though? People were bound to start asking questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scowled and took a long sip through the straw. Suddenly she didn't want to be here anymore. She stood up, grabbed the bowl of mixed nuts, belched loudly to rile up Corff some more, and stormed off up the rickety old staircase. The ancient floorboards creaked under the strain of her boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Varric!” She pounded on the door of his suite. “I know you're in there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A restlessness stirred deep in the marrow of her bones, coiled like a spring. Like a heavy branch suspended tentatively over a flooded river, something inside her felt ready to snap at a moment's notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a storm coming. She could taste it in the air, feel it in the way Anders tensed whenever Stannard’s name was mentioned. It was written across Solona's face every time she had to use her lyrium injector and the borderline neurotic way she checked her bullets every time she left her house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hung heavy like a cloud of thick, impenetrable fog that obscured every day with maddening uncertainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of nausea hit her stomach, sudden and intense and </span>
  <em>
    <span>demanding. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She bolted back down the stairs and into the restroom, barely making it to the first stall before vomiting her soda into the toilet. She sighed, wiped her mouth with a wad of their shitty one ply toilet tissue, and let herself sink to the floor. The tiles were cold against her rear as she leaned back and tilted her head against the stall partition, exhaustion settling in her bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She checked her phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking hell, it's not even eleven in the morning yet. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>To say she was tired was the understatement of the century. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her text tone chimed twice. She glanced down to two texts from Solona, both pictures of Razikale stretched out precariously across the corner of the coffee table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn't particularly a cat person, but that one was alright by her, and the way Solona doted on him like a child was particularly endearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, he was probably one of the best things to ever happen to Solona. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rylee had known her cousin for a very long time. They first met when they were children, their mothers both reluctantly attending a family sponsored charity function and stoically tolerating each others’ company. The Amell family had been much larger then. Granny Bethann’s lung cancer got the best of her two years later. Grandpa Aristide and Great Uncle Fausten followed soon after. She still remembered the funerals: long, dreadfully dull Chantry affairs for children of six and seven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Solona had snuck off to the chapel’s choir loft and gleefully carved their names into the pews with stray paperclips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A year later, Solona’s Uncle Damien was arrested for tax evasion, her own Uncle Gamlen lost his share of the inheritance to a pyramid scheme, and their mothers were tasked with the thankless responsibility of picking up the pieces of a family now littered with scandal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all the same to the two of them, of course. They'd shared private tutors who forced them to focus on their schoolwork and extracurriculars despite everything else falling apart. She remembered watching Solona's dance recitals and wondering if she'd ever be able to move that gracefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Combat sports had been more her thing. Fencing and various styles of martial arts had been the only thing keeping her restless ass in her seat come school time. She'd never been any good at sitting still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like Solona, who used to spend countless hours with her nose buried in a sketchbook. She would draw everything she could get her eyes on and more, filled volumes of empty notebooks armed only with a pencil and her own imagination. She was going to be a famous artist, she used to declare proudly. Just like Therése DeSerault and Jakob Devigny and Harper Slater and an entire laundry list of other names Rylee could never keep up with. It always seemed to grow by the week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't know how Solona had the time for magic lessons on top of everything else when she came into her powers, but her own father made time for it three times a week and painstakingly trained Solona not to be a danger to herself and everyone around her. She'd taken to his lessons with prodigious ease, of course. She'd always excelled at the things she put her mind to, and her magic always seemed to light a particularly exhilarated fire behind her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solona's tenth birthday, they'd spent the entire day avoiding the elaborate party her mother had tried to set up for her by sneaking on a bus to Old Town and exploring the abandoned tunnels by the Darktown subway station. The two of them were eventually found by a police search party and subsequently grounded for an entire month. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was also the year her brother disappeared. Her mood soured. A body had never been recovered, but he'd been presumed dead in the Event and, along with their father, slapped on a fatality list that started a chain of events leading to Rylee firing her tutor to take care of her three year old twin siblings at the ripe old age of eleven while their mother completely checked out of reality. The memory of clearing up her empty pill bottles and constantly washing her dirty dishes still dragged a bitter knife through her gut. Solona would come over after her lessons and help sweep and vacuum and feed the twins, always promising to be there for her best friend. Practically her sister, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inseparable as they were, they'd always considered themselves that, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rylee dragged herself off of the floor and spat one last time into the toilet for good measure before flushing and washing her face in the sink. A constant weight hung behind her eyelids these days, a bone deep exhaustion that dug and scraped its way between her shoulders and beneath her spine and left her feeling wrung out like a ragged dish towel left to dry in the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A recurring nightmare from her childhood had recently come back to haunt her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had first tormented her the night she learned Solona's fate after the Solution had passed. Leandra was sitting in her recliner as usual that night, eyes glazed over at the TV while Rylee struggled alone with a pot of boxed mac and cheese. The news was on. Carver and Bethany were squabbling loudly and tearfully over something trivial. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crowds protest in the streets over the now legal seizure of mage children. Over two hundred and fifty children ages four to seventeen have already been taken into custody and processed, and sources estimate the number will more than triple by the end of the week. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d almost dropped the pot on the floor. The memory was so clear still, so vivid she could still relive it in slow motion with her eyes closed. Mechanically she'd grabbed the phone from the wall and called Solona's house. Her mother answered, and the hollowness in her greeting had told Rylee all she needed to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rylee had her first vivid Fade nightmare that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solona had lucid dreams in the Fade all the time. She would talk about them animatedly, how vivid the colors were, how intense the emotions. How she could fly if she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, how her magic bloomed wild and free and constrained only by the limits of her imagination. She had the nightmares too, of course — every mage did — but she didn't often speak of them. Only that the voices whispered things, unpleasant things better left unsaid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rylee opened her eyes in sleep to jagged, sickly green landscapes. The ground was wet and muddy, and the water made her bare ankles tingle unpleasantly. She couldn't tell where the light was coming from; only that her surroundings were dimly lit and smelled faintly of mold and stale rot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solona stood in front of her, pale and translucent, a ghostly figure flickering in and out of existence with dim, lifeless eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't her, of course. Rylee knew enough about magic to know the Tranquil didn't dream. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Couldn't </span>
  </em>
  <span>dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn't stop the apparition in front of her from knocking the air from her lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing that was not Solona visited her dreams almost nightly after that for a long time, and each time, it would stand and watch her, empty eyed, the sunburst brand shimmering faintly on her forehead. Rylee had railed against the Solution since. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took homeschool courses online and transferred into a public high school two years later, and Leandra, predictably, hadn’t tried to stop her. She tried to found a group there, the Independent Mage Society, and for roughly three semesters it slowly gained traction until the administration put their foot down, citing parental concerns about their children becoming “too political” and “radicalized.” She tried to regroup two more times after that, under the guise of creating a support space for families of Tranquil mages. The second time, she formed the group outside of school borders under a new name: The Mage Underground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three weeks after its inception, one semester away from graduation, she was expelled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inciting anti-government sentiments, general disorderly conduct, radicalizing students with dangerous far left ideology.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That was fine with her. She didn’t have time for an actual career anymore anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kicked at the floor and dragged a hand through her hair. It was getting uncomfortably shaggy in the back. She hadn’t intended to spend her morning moping in the bathroom, but honestly, what else was there to do today? There weren’t any new leads to follow up on in the Olivia Thrask case. Owen’s license plate search so far wasn’t turning up anything useful. Anders had begged her to take the day off and spend it doing literally anything but work for the Underground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem with life outside of the Underground, though, was that without it, she wasn’t entirely sure who she was anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Want to do something later?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she texted Solona before stuffing the phone back into her pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to get out of this bar and find somewhere else to be. The walls were suffocating her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Biting back another wave of nausea, Rylee made her way back to the bar and slapped down a ten. “Keep the change,” she muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> she could do that would calm down the incessant buzzing in her head, if only she could— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bar door opened, and Rylee froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, sister,” Garrett said with a cheeky grin. “Miss me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Rylee whispered. A whirlwind of emotion flooded her senses, but the one quickly rising to the top was pure, unadulterated rage. “How did — what —” She grabbed a bottle from the bar and hurled it at him as she spat, “How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t get to hear the satisfying thunk of the bottle against his head because a hand shot out, snatching the bottle from the air before it made contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, pet,” Garrett murmured to a young woman standing beside him. He turned back to Rylee. “Yes, me. In the flesh.” He offered another cocky grin and put his hands in his pockets. “Can we chat or do you need to let some more of this out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another bottle was in her hands before any more words sprang to her lips. “How dare you show your face in here?” She was yelling now as she hurled the second one in his direction. He ducked, and the glass shattered on the door frame behind him with a loud crash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Corff yelled across the bar. “Take that shit outside!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young woman who had snatched the first bottle set it back on the bar and offered an apologetic grimace. “Sorry serah, hopefully won’t happen again.” After she said it she fixed a mildly amused gaze on Rylee, leaning on the bar as she watched the tension between the pair before her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Rylee, you have every right to be angry but don’t wreck the joint,” Garrett muttered. “Listen, I owe you an apology but you won’t hear it if you just keep yelling and throwing perfectly good bottles of booze at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see in the last twenty years you still haven’t learned how to take anything seriously,” Rylee snarled. “An apology? An </span>
  <em>
    <span>apology?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She slammed a hand on the bar in punctuation. “Do you have any idea what you did? To this family? To </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She advanced on him, shaking her head incredulously. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She leveled the accusation at him, harsh and heavy with years of bitter hurt. “Dad died, you left, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrecked </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mom. I was twelve, Garrett. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twelve.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I should have been in fucking middle school doing all the idiotic things that twelve year old girls do, but you know what I was doing instead? Being a fucking parent to the twins because there was no one else left who would. And this whole time, this —” She gestured helplessly in the stranger’s direction. “You were out there doing — doing fuck knows what with, with — who the fuck is this anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young woman smiled brightly and gestured a hand. “His wife. I’m Mara, so nice to meet —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rylee screeched. “Are you serious? Maker fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Garrett, how old is she, sixteen? She looks young enough to be your </span>
  <em>
    <span>daughter!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrett frowned and looked back at the young woman and then shrugged. “I’m fairly certain I didn’t have a child at fifteen.” He chuckled and then looked back at Rylee. “Listen, there’s —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> listen,” Rylee hissed. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so utterly, blindingly angry. “We lost Dad, but I basically lost both parents </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. You walked away when I needed you more than anyone else. You don’t get to come in here and apologize. The time for apologies was twenty fucking years ago when you left us to think you </span>
  <em>
    <span>died </span>
  </em>
  <span>out there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first flicker of real emotion passed over Garrett’s face, but he quickly buried it behind a neutral grimace. “Yes, that part, uh, was intentional. And I can understand how that makes it worse, but if you’d let me explain —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something between a laugh and a sob crawled its way out of her throat. “Explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That you decided to pack up and leave the country without telling anyone? Starting some idyllic life somewhere? Running around Thedas buying nice clothes and hair extensions for your — your sun-kissed teenage sugar baby?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Garrett, you should have told me I could have been getting an allowance this whole time,” the young woman drawled, smirking as she continued her passive study of Rylee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrett sighed and dragged a hand down his full black beard. “Rylee, it wasn’t like I had a choice. And trust me, being on the run is not as idyllic as you’re making it out to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope it wasn’t,” she said. Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not now. Not in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She grabbed it and shoved it to her ear. “What?” she growled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, Hawke, is this a bad time?” Owen asked with a nervous chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” she said flatly. “What do you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this might make your day significantly better or significantly worse, so either way —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Owen, can you get to the fucking point?” she snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, sorry,” he said. “The license plate database. The one your crazy cousin’s detective friend gave us access to. We finally got a match.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said slowly. “That sounds like good news.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s … well, yeah, but it just leads to another dead end. You should come see what we dug up, though, whenever you’re done doing … whatever it is you’re doing over there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said, fixing another withering stare at her brother. “No, we’re finished here. Now is a great time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Owen detected any hint of her mood in her voice, he didn’t say it. “Okay, great,” he said. “We’re at the Foundry house. See you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone call hung up with a soft tone. Rylee shoved it back into her pocket and turned towards the door, shoving Garrett out of the way with her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his credit, at least, he didn’t try to put up a fight. “Rylee, I just want to talk,” he just said plaintively, a pleading note in his voice this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said abruptly. She turned around, one hand on the doorknob. “No, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>abandoned </span>
  </em>
  <span>your family, Garrett. I have nothing else to say to you. Don’t you dare fucking show your face here again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rylee, wait —” he said, but whatever else he had to say cut off as she forcefully slammed the pub door behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well that...certainly could have gone better.” Garrett flung himself on the plush sofa that took up one wall of the living room. Sprawling out he relaxed his head on the back of the cushion, eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The drinks they had gotten after the fiasco of a reunion had helped take some of the edge off, but the pain was still rattling around in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel the cushion dip beside him, and the fragrance of orange and vanilla preceded Mara nuzzling her head into his shoulder. “You knew it would be tough, darling. Hopefully she got some of the anger out, and next time you can actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaving a groan, he lowered an arm to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her in to get more of the sweet smell of her to chase away the doubts. The lights in the living room were warm, casting a beautiful golden sheen on her hair as she situated herself half in his lap. He had been hesitant to come back at all. Really, he still wondered a little that if she hadn’t pushed him and made the arrangements for their accommodations in the city that he would have still found reasons not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as his work meant to him, as much as he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself without following the trail here, the fact that it had come with the rest of his baggage had given him pause. If he hadn’t had her gentle, encouraging guidance, he knew he would have continued to put it off. Or done his best to avoid having to face it at all once he was here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing down, he trailed his hand through her hair, admiring the way the curls and waves wrapped around his fingers. “Thank you for going with me,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t going to let you face all that by yourself.” She raised her gaze and gave him a tender smile. “Besides, I told you to do it, so it was only fair I went with you. You needed me there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only you knew how much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, as Maker-awful as it turned out, I’m still glad you convinced me to do it,” he told her instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll come around,” Mara assured him, the hopeful tone of her voice obvious as she gave his knee a squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garret sighed and shook his head. “You don’t know her like I do. Or — like I did. I...honestly don’t know if she will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments of silence met his certainty, and Mara finally pushed herself up, facing him so that she could meet his gaze. “Darling, you’re still family. And this is a lot to get over, but I’m sure — if you give her time — she’ll come around.” When she was done saying it, she reached for his face, turning it and running her fingers through his beard. “I’m almost positive on one level she has to understand why. She knows what happened after, she knows what would have happened to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll hate me even more if she does.” He shook his head and looked away, trying to think if there was anything he ever could say that would make Rylee forgive him. What she had said that morning in the bar…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t known. There hadn’t been a way for him to follow the course of their lives, the struggles and hardships they had faced in his absence. Thinking of coming back, of reaching out — it had been too painful to even consider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life on the run had turned into a necessity, and deep down he’d known what he was really running from was the feeling of never being able to go home. In the twenty years since he had left, he had finally come to accept that being gone was better than ever going back, likely for everyone involved. Resurrecting the dead brought all manner of ghosts along with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Mara hadn’t crashed into his life the moment he found a trail leading him back to Kirkwall…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idly he traced a nonsensical pattern on the bare skin of her knee as he stared at the bold art opposite them, in the adjoining dining room. It was long, painful strokes of color that at first he hadn’t known if he liked or not. As he looked at it now, he realized the splashes of red and midnight blue dripping into purple made him feel as if his soul was made reality on the canvas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking away from it, his gaze wandered over the modern, minimalist decor, and he almost let out a chuckle as he considered it. It was so different from places he usually stayed at before, the cheap and dingy motels he had lived at for weeks on end. This looked like the sort of bougie place you could actually raise a family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t ever thought about it, hadn’t thought it was remotely possible until he’d laid eyes on </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A family, again — his, hers, the one they could have in the future. The one that was formed even just by the very fact of them being married.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many years alone had warped his independence into a well-used shield, a fortified defense no one could get past. Having someone beside him, watching his six — it was so new, so long sought after but self-denied that some nights he simply laid awake and held her, thanking everything in creation that he wasn’t alone any longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you look on the site and take on a case tonight?” Mara curled her legs under her as she said it, and withdrew her phone from her nearby purse. “Surely there’s more than enough here in Kirkwall, and I bet we could find something easy. A distraction. I think it would be good for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrett considered, thinking of how long he had thrown himself into the work he had managed to stumble into just by being brash and not knowing when to back down from a fight. He knew he used it to channel his anger, to unleash righteous fury on people who took advantage of others, to fight in defense of those who were left behind by the system. As if doing so could erase any of the anguish caused by his past. Before he knew it, his reputation had gotten away from him. Until he discovered a page where people left messages begging the legend of “The Champion” for help — if he existed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t expected it, but Mara had suspected who he was when they met. Had even confessed easily to having admired his exploits, following them eagerly. Laying in bed the first night they met, sweaty limbs tangled together, gasping for air between athletic sessions of fucking that likely kept the other hotel occupants awake, he had begun talking. In fact he had kept talking until he had told her everything, had bared his soul the way he never had to another living being. To his surprise she had merely listened, holding him as if she knew what catharsis he must have been experiencing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of it she merely held his gaze for a moment and reasserted her answer to his proposal.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Garrett Hawke. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he sat trying to decide where all of this energy in his limbs needed to go, but under the anger and frustration there was the desire for tenderness. After having someone reject him so completely as he was, he knew he needed shelter, untethered as he felt now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think that will help tonight. Thank you though, little minx.” He wrapped his arm back around her, pulling her close until she set her phone aside and snuggled against him. “I think I’d rather spend the night seeing how many more of these surfaces we can put to use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mara giggled, shifting out of his arms so that she could slip astride him. With a smirk and a wink she rolled her hips slightly, then grabbed his hands from where he ran them along her thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem like you need a break,” she agreed softly. “So tonight I’m the boss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrett raised an eyebrow, studying her as he noticed the shift in her tone, the way her voice pitched higher as she did her best to restrain his wrists above his head. With a girlish trickle of laughter she leaned down, catching his lip between her teeth and tugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he struggled to keep a soft moan of pain from his throat, she sat up and situated her crotch more snugly against his. He knew this dance, and he marveled at the way she so easily slid into giving him exactly what he wanted — no, what he needed — without him having to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maker but she’s perfect.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze until she tugged at her lower lip with her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she nodded, almost defiantly, and declared, “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a cocky grin and nodded his chin at her top. “Take that off, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wicked gleam came into her stormy eyes, and he knew she would rise to the challenge at the words, just as he desperately craved.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Make me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave one last impressive attempt to keep his hands in her hold, but he could feel the very second she accepted and released herself into his care. He let the tension hold for another moment, allowing himself to honor the way she relinquished her control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then — he snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one swift move he pulled his hands from her grasp, knocking her off of his lap so that she bounced on the cushion beside him. Keeping her hips across his thighs, he took a moment to get her arms pinned behind her back in one hand as he gave her an experimental tap on the ass with his other. She let out a playful cry and struggled against his hold, but he simply rewarded it with another, harder slap to one cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Garrett!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think I can’t make you, you have another thing coming.” He chuckled at her whine, and used his free hand to begin tugging at her denim shorts until he had exposed her to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of each strike was as satisfying as the cries they pulled from her, and the pink grew to a vibrant red on her tanned skin as he continued to leave marks on her flesh. She was gasping beneath him, wriggling in his hold as she whimpered, her surprised mewls soon turning into deep moans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look better with some color on these cheeks,” he told her, taking a moment to instead caress her, grasping handfuls of her plump flesh and squeezing. When she angled her hips more fully for his attention, he resumed the spanking until she was peppered with bright, vermillion handprints across her delicate skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G-Garrett, Sir, please,” she panted, twisting even more against the strong arm he had pinning her to the cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you knew what happened to naughty minxes like you,” he purred, and for good measure he left one final strike across her, laughing at the strangled and desperate sound she made. “Let’s see how you bore your punishment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mara whined again, scooting her knees to give better access, awkward as it was with her shorts still around her thighs. When he slipped his hand between her legs she shuddered, and he laughed again when he felt the slick of her coating his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dirty girl,” he praised, and he slowly slid two fingers into her. After a moment spent curling them until she moaned, he began pumping them in and out, letting her hear the evidence of her arousal from his punishing strikes. She was nearly sobbing, and buried her face against the cushion as if she was embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was obscene, the noises he could get her to make, the wetness coating her thighs and his hand as he worked at her. Every time he felt her body start to give with a violent tremble he stopped, letting his fingers rest within her to tease her with fullness without giving her any friction. When she tried to thrust back against his hand he removed his touch and instead gave what must have been an even more painful slap on her rear because of the fluid coating his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tutting playfully at her, he reached to his belt and undid it, freeing himself and shifting slightly on the sofa so that he could be ready. Not until he had her where he wanted, and he finally returned his fingers to her, angling his hand so that he also teased against her swollen clit. Again he took up the rhythm that left her whole body shaking, his palm pressing into her as he felt more of her arousal drip down his hand and onto her thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a messy little thing,” he purred, and he bent one knee and pushed it between hers, knocking her off balance until only her ass was in the air. Left to him, trapped by the arm that still held her wrists and the hand working relentlessly without letting her come, the sweetest music of her begging began in earnest. She was his when she was like this, at his mercy but not asking him for it. Instead she was rambling, nonsensical appeals pouring from her lips for him to take her like she deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take me — use me — fuck. I’m your pet, Garrett, please — I can take it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a few moments, and he would put her begging to the test. He waited until her muscles were taut, until the words she was crying were strangled and damn near demeaning. Just as he knew he’d gotten her to the edge, he pulled his fingers from her, still granting her the friction of his palm as he began to slide himself within her. It was a tortuous pace, begun just as she shattered and broke beneath him, so that as she did she had to feel the way every inch of him parted her and settled as deep within her as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving her no time to adjust or come down, he gripped the soft flesh at her hips and began thrusting. His pace was unforgiving, eliciting sounds almost like shrieks as he pushed her back towards the brink. Finally releasing her arms, he kept both hands on her hips, not allowing her to squirm away from him as he pounded her into the cushions. The sharp rhythm was rocking the sofa, and she slid along it, unable to find purchase against him until her hands were able to grasp at the armrest and the end table beyond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the lamp resting on the surface shook and gave way, he didn’t even take a moment to be grateful it was metal and not glass, and it merely clattered to the floor. Her wails were echoing about the vacation rental, and he did muse as he watched her claw against the sofa that at least she had had the foresight to find them a vacation rental with no shared walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again and again he pushed her to her limits, watching as she screamed and slid along the cushions, clearly lost to anything but the way he made her fall apart more times than was likely necessary. Or decent. But he needed this, to feel as if he mattered somehow, to someone, that he affected them and made them belong to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time his release was finally coiling within him, heat low in his stomach, she was limp and whimpering, mascara smudged around her eyes from how she had pressed her face into the cushions as he took her. He came with his own desperate cry, no longer the confident bravado of the chuckles he had let loose at her mewls of pleasure. Now he clung to her, hardly able to come down himself as he gave her a few last thrusts even though he knew he was spent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After withdrawing from her, he carefully removed her shorts at last and gathered her in his arms, cradling her to him as he made his unsteady way to their bedroom. Sinking onto the mattress, he laid back and held her against him, stroking her hair as he tried to calm the way they were both shaking. Slowly she came back to herself, and shifted in his arms until she could nuzzle her face into his neck to place a smattering of gentle kisses to his sweaty skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she whispered, and he tightened his hold on her, momentarily unable to speak, to return the sentiment. “And family or no family, you’ll always have me. My Garrett, my Champion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burying his face in her hair, he inhaled deeply, wondering vaguely at how she always knew what to say. “Thank you, love. I don’t know why the Maker decided to give me you, but I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.” He sighed, readjusting how she lay so that he could hold her closer, wishing he could draw her into him to soothe the aching in his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good man. I wish they could see you as I do. Maybe if you share the parts of yourself with her that you have with me, she’ll understand.” She raised her gaze and smiled tenderly, reaching a hand to cup his cheek and run her thumb along where his beard and cheekbone met.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s normally frowned upon in good society, minx,” he pointed out, chuckling even as he realized there was truth in what she said. The idea of saying it aloud to anyone else, though, was too much to bear — so he retreated behind a wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mara frowned and playfully shook her head. “No, you’re right, she’d never forgive you for what we just did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrett laughed, and she soon joined, still idly running her fingers through his beard and across his nose. He remembered something Rylee had said, and considered her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry for what she said to you, she shouldn’t have dragged you in —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can stand up for myself, you know that. And don’t worry, they were really digs at you. Are you all right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That look — the one she gave him now, the love and concern he saw there — that was worth any number of battles, any number of scars he bore, visible or otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where were you when I needed you most? When I was younger and could have used your soft words and tender guidance?” he mused, unable to resist just one moment of desperate honesty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mara smirked, a wicked, teasing gleam coming into her eyes. “Probably still teething.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Space Between Parallels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The loft was quieter than she expected. Besides the occasional flurry of activity from Razikale, often accompanied by the clatter of something he had knocked over, it was almost peaceful. Only a few days had passed since she had accepted Solona’s offer, but she was strangely glad now that she had. So far she had been working late and hadn’t spent much time there, and yet neither had Solona.</p><p>Deciding her new roommate’s comings and goings weren’t her business, she continued steaming the slinky black dress with her magic. As much as she was dreading the dinner, she also refused to show up to it looking like a slob. Once the wrinkles from being thrown across her hotel room were out, she pulled it on, struggling with the zipper behind her. Chuckling she realized perhaps it was the simple things that she missed most about marriage. Assistance with zippers had always been close at hand, John seeming overly eager each time to help.</p><p>As she finally managed to pull it up and banish the memories from her mind, her phone interrupted with a blaring and familiar ringtone. The one he had set for himself when they were in college and she had never changed, even when she replaced her phone every few years.</p><p>
  <em> Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? — </em>
</p><p>She answered before it could play the rest.</p><p>“Dori, I’m just about to head out the door.”</p><p>“Busy evening?” the pleasant drawl of her best friend greeted her.</p><p>“Unfortunately. Dinner with John to...talk about us.” She didn’t try to hide the resignation and bitterness from him, knowing he’d just pick up on it anyway.</p><p>“Yes, well, about that. Before you go there’s something you should see.”</p><p>Abby stopped her search for her black stilettos and frowned. “Oh? Can it wait? I’m not really in the headspace for —”</p><p>“Trust me, darling. You’ll want to see this. I sent you a link, page six of the Imperium Times has quite a spread.”</p><p>The tone of his suggestion was playful, but she knew him well enough to know he was trying to bolster her with lightheartedness. Dread filled her as she sought out her laptop and quickly opened her email.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b> <em>The Lord and His Lady Love</em> </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Lord Jonathan Rullus, Soporatus of the Senate up for reelection this term, has recently been out of the spotlight of the Imperium. It seems he’s taken a short break from campaigning to continue his support of the reigning Lady of his heart, going with her to Kirkwall City in the Free Marches, where the fight for mage civil rights is back in full swing. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Lord Rullus was spotted leaving the Kirkwall City courthouse, and when stopped for comment only gave this rather cryptic explanation: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> “Mage Civil Rights in the Free Marches are a cause near and dear to my heart, as well as the impact they have on the rest of Thedas, the Imperium included. I cannot say more, though, to protect my current clients.” </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> And what current clients are those? Seems he and his former Lady, Abigail Rullus, might be joining forces to help the protestors recently arrested at a gathering in Kirkwall’s Memorial Park that sadly turned to violence several weeks ago. We have it on good authority that Lord Rullus was quick to step in to represent all of those wrongfully arrested by the state. </em>
  </p>
  <p><em> As for what this means for the former darlings of the Senate race? A source close to the Lord told us his love and support for his ex-wife has never wavered, even after their split, and that they very well may be headed toward reconciliation. Their divorce a year ago rocked the political and social worlds, since despite the differences in age and station they had always been an apparently happy, greatly  admired and beloved couple worthy of </em> <b> <em> #relationshipgoals</em> </b> <em> . </em></p>
  <p>
    <em> With the new revelations that the former Lady was back in Kirkwall City for work, we can only speculate that perhaps the prospect of distance was too much for a couple who had always seemed joined at the hip. But now — </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Abby stopped reading, her hands shaking as she skimmed the beginning of the article again.</p><p>“Still with me, darling?” Dorian asked, this time the concern evident in his voice.</p><p>“That — that — that lying, good for nothing <em> bastard! </em> Vishante kaffas! And just when I was really thinking maybe we could — that he might have changed, I —” </p><p>“I know, darling. I know you were hopeful. I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I knew you’d want to know. Especially since...well.”</p><p>“Since it looks like ‘the source close to him’ is probably just him?” she gritted out. “I’m glad you told me, don’t get me wrong. Just...well…”</p><p>“Still going to dinner?” Dorian asked, and there was a mischievous hint of laughter lurking under his polished voice.</p><p>“Yes. Definitely.” As she said it, she hit print on the article, ignoring the pictures beneath it, the ones of them smiling and holding hands at fundraisers and society events. They had speculations like “back together?!” splattered across them in bright, garish fonts, and inwardly she cringed.</p><p>
  <em> What an idiot I was. </em>
</p><p>Her cab ride to the restaurant she was still fuming, mind full of everything she wanted to say to him, thoughts swarming until she was nearly shaking with rage. Deciding she needed to get herself under control, she finally reached for the metal case in her small purse, rolling down a window so she could break her two week sobriety from cigarettes.</p><p>Upon pulling up to the restaurant she felt her anxiety spike, but was relieved when she found a lack of reporters or paparazzi. After the article she realized she wouldn’t put it past him to call them, to get pictures of them having dinner together, backing up his claims that they were reconciling. That she would still have a hand in his life as a Senator.</p><p>She knew now that that assumption in the public eye had helped him greatly, that the people liked to think that he would fight for them because he had her beside him, working behind the scenes to sway him. It wasn’t simply that he loved <em> her </em> that was appealing in the Imperium; it was that he loved a mage, a refugee of Kirkwall, the daughter of a vocal mage rights activist and political artist.</p><p>How naive she had been to think it had ever been anything more than that.</p><p>Stepping out of the car after passing over payment, she took a steadying breath, her hold on the pages of the article tightening so that the paper crinkled.</p><p>He had used her. She could do this, and her anger would help her resist any charming way he tried to spin it.</p><p>Abby swiftly made her way into the restaurant, and the host greeted her at the same moment she saw John spot her from a candlelit table and push himself to his feet. With a curt nod to the host she made her way over to him, and she could tell the fury was clear on her face when John’s wide smile faltered.</p><p>“You look gorgeous, are you —”</p><p>“How <em> dare </em> you,” she spat as she unceremoniously shoved the article into his chest.</p><p>John spluttered slightly, hands accepting the pages from her automatically so that he could look at them. She was surprised when his face fell, and he visibly blanched.</p><p>“They — they weren’t supposed to —” he stuttered, raising his gaze to hers. “I can explain.”</p><p>“I expect you to,” she ground out, and circled the table to take her seat.</p><p>There was already a glass of red wine waiting for her, and she looked at the bottle on the table, noting that it was the familiar vintage, the one they always drank on their anniversary. It did little to cool the rage inside of her, and she flagged the waiter down when she caught his eye.</p><p>“A double Mackay’s neat, please,” she ordered from them, waiting as John took his seat and tried to get his bearings.</p><p>“Gorgeous, I’m sorry, they stopped me for comment and I —”</p><p>“Cut the kaffas, John,” she interrupted coldly. Narrowing her eyes at him, she gestured at the article that now lay between them. “This has you written all over it. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? The promise of dinner, of genuinely trying to sort things out between us wasn’t enough. You just had to make this work for you and your — your aspirations.”</p><p>“They weren’t supposed to run it until we had had our talk,” he confessed. His voice was quiet, his eyes downcast, and he reached for his glass of wine to take a long gulp. “I meant for this to be a celebration, I — I convinced them. They’ve dropped all charges, Abby.”</p><p>“Great. It would be cause for celebration if you hadn’t just used the opportunity to win re-election in another country.” She sat back and folded her arms, glaring at him as the waiter brought her drink. After a muttered thanks she drained half of it and then fixed him with her attention once more. “I can’t believe you, John. I was willing to give you a chance, I thought you really had meant it, that you really were doing it <em> for me. </em> I asked you for help. I thought — kaffas, but you really do always manage to make a fool of me.”</p><p>John sighed and hung his head. “I did it for you. I just — also saw an opportunity. They asked me what I was doing in Kirkwall and I. I gave as honest an answer as I could manage, I knew how it would look back home. I can’t change my position, Kitten —”</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, and she actually felt the mana spike within her at the name and the memories she knew he meant to conjure with it. After a moment taking a few deep breaths she managed to simply glare at him. “Don’t you dare call me that. Not after everything, but especially not after this.”</p><p> Whether or not he had felt the dangerous surge around her she wasn’t certain, but she watched as he gulped in response to her warning. “I’m sorry. Old habits —”</p><p>“Clearly.”</p><p>Silence fell over them, in which they both did their best to drain the drinks set before them. When the waiter stopped to greet them in full and take their order, Abby begged a few more minutes and went back to glaring at the man across from her.</p><p>She had always thought she knew him so well, better than anyone. Yet when she tried to remember the man she had fallen in love with, the one who had worshiped and protected her, she couldn’t quite reconcile it with the same one she studied now.</p><p>“I didn’t mean for this to happen, Abby,” he finally broke their silence. “Any of this. I know I was — I went too far a year ago, and all I’ve longed for since then was a chance to make it up to you. To beg forgiveness for driving you away.”</p><p>For a moment she held his gaze, but then she scoffed and looked away. “It helped me see who you really are. Who you’ve really always been. If you were willing to ask that of me, to suggest that we resort to — to <em> that </em> instead of simply adopting, I shouldn’t be surprised by what else you’re willing to stoop to.”</p><p>“It was for us, Abby. It was because I knew how desperately you longed to be a mother, to have your own —”</p><p>“Children are your own when you commit to being their parent. That was all I wanted, and I — I would have been happy to raise a whole gaggle of orphans with you. But that wasn’t enough for you.” She felt her voice catch and took a moment, shaking her head before she muttered, “Nothing is ever enough for you.”</p><p>“You were.”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me.”</p><p>“I mean it, Abby,” he told her, and he leaned across the table, stretching for her hand and grimacing when she pulled it out of his reach. “I know we’ve had our struggles, but the only one I regret is that. You came into my life like a whirlwind one night and I — I never looked back. You mean everything to me.”</p><p>She stared at him, feeling pained at the way she recognized how long she had needed to hear those words. Only now, they rang hollow, and she knew they could never get back to a time when she would believe them.</p><p>“That’s just the thing, John. I don’t. If I did, you wouldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t have pulled that kaffas with sending those pictures to me and leaking my information —”</p><p>“Wait — you can’t think I did that!” he interrupted, a deep scowl on his face as he gestured a hand in protest.</p><p>“You mean to say you didn’t follow me? Didn’t take a photo of me in the detective’s car to send to us?” Abby narrowed her eyes, carefully gauging his reaction.</p><p>He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he glanced around and then sighed. “All right, yes, that — that was me. I was hurt, I — lashed out, and the moment I hit send I regretted it.”</p><p>“You regretted it so much you leaked my contact info so that I started getting death threats?” She leveled the challenge with a raised eyebrow, daring him to lie to her now. “Someone broke into my room, John!”</p><p>John hesitated, a look of genuine concern and shock registering on his face. “I may have been angry, but I would never — <em> never </em> — do anything to put you in danger, Gorgeous. I’m sorry about what I said that night, when I told him you were a mage,” he confessed, deflating slightly as he said it. “I didn’t stop to think that that could put you in danger, with him or others. I was simply angry, you were — slipping through my fingers.”</p><p>“You — you really expect me to believe…” She trailed off though, because the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, had her doubting her certainty.</p><p>“No, I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth. Trying to sabotage what looked like you moving on with another man, yes — yes, Abby, that was me. But putting your life in danger, leaking your information to the public, here in Kirkwall where that could mean death for a journalist, especially a mage. Please, whatever you think of me — I wouldn’t do that.”</p><p>She considered him, doubt and the urge to believe him warring within her until finally she nodded her head. “I suppose if someone murdered me that would put a dent in your plans.”</p><p>John heaved a sigh, hanging his head and shaking it before he raised a surprisingly soft gaze to hers. “Abby, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I — I love you. I have always loved you, and that hasn’t gone away just because we’ve been apart —”</p><p>“John, that’s — that may be the truth but you’ve still used me, treated me horribly, you’ve — you’ve made a fool of me, again and again.” Abby leaned forward, resting her head in her hands for a moment as she thought. “I didn’t want to be a puppet, or a political tool, I simply wanted you to love me. I was willing to support all of that because I loved you, but you asked me to betray and compromise my morals, my very being —”</p><p>“If I could take it back I would.”</p><p>“But you can’t. And now you’ve doubled down on it, time and again.” She raised her gaze to his and shrugged listlessly. “I thought you really meant it. That you saw that I needed you and came to my rescue, that you were helping me because it was me, because maybe we had just been — wrong, and given up too soon. But this.” She gestured at the article. “John, it just proves my point. I can’t be with you, there’s no possibility of reconciliation if you’ll use even our private moments and intimate discussions for your own gain.”</p><p>He sighed, shaking his head. “Please, I can change. In the future we can — keep everything out of the press, I can say it caused a strain, keep you out of the limelight.” He paused, fixing her with a forlorn look. “I meant what I said that night, having you back in my arms — I was so happy, I was home again. Please, please let’s give us another chance.”</p><p>Abby hated the memories brought back with his words, the way she had been weak. After everything that had happened she had wanted to feel comfort, and he had been there for her. He had dried her from the shower he had found her crying in, had laid her in bed and held her, and when she had looked up it had been so easy. Slipping back into the comfort of his familiar touch, his tender words —</p><p>“No,” she said, firmly cutting off the memories. “No, John, I can’t. And more importantly, I don’t want to. You say you can change but again and again you make the same mistakes and hurt me, or take advantage. I’m not an idiot, and I — I won’t slip back just because it’s familiar. We’re done, and you need to accept it. Go home.”</p><p>It would be a danger to stay longer, to allow him to continue to charm her, the way he knew he could use her romantic nature against her. That night, letting him touch her, losing herself to familiar kisses, crying and sleeping on his shoulder — no.</p><p>
  <em> Never again. </em>
</p><p>Pushing herself to her feet, she grabbed her purse and shook her head more forcefully. He stood as well, clearly hoping to stop her, but she stepped out of reach of his outstretched hand.</p><p>“Goodbye, John.”</p><p>Without looking back, she turned and walked away, trying to take deep breaths as she fought the way her heart wanted to break at the end of a chapter of her life.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Relationships were annoying, Solona decided. She took a deep pull from the strawberry blunt she'd painstakingly rolled before starting her latest project. She stared at the canvas where she was currently sketching out a loose outline, mind helplessly wandering despite repeated attempts to focus on her artwork. </p><p>The pleasant, persistent ache between her legs certainly wasn’t helping her state of mind, either. </p><p>She hadn’t exactly planned on lingering at Jowan’s university funded flat when she’d gone over earlier. Had he not had her tablet and various other items of both practical and sentimental value, she’d probably have just ignored his texts entirely. But he did, and she had gone, and well. </p><p>He certainly hadn't lost any of his skill in the time they'd been apart. </p><p>She sighed and set her mind to the faint scratching of her pencil on the canvas. It had been her first trip near campus since—</p><p>No, she wasn't going to let her mind go back down that road either. </p><p>What had possessed her to kiss him in the first place? Was it the deep, mournful look in his eyes when he answered her hesitant knock? “Hi,” he'd said awkwardly as he opened the door. He'd lost weight since she last saw him. His shirt hung too loosely from his shoulders, bunched a little too much where it was tucked into slacks that now completely obscured the shape of his legs. There were worrisome bags under his eyes, and <em> Maker </em> when was the last time he'd slept? <em> Are you alright? </em> she wanted to ask. <em> What can I do?  </em></p><p>But no, of course he wasn't alright, and there probably wasn't much she <em> could </em>do, even if he, by some chance, wanted her to do so. </p><p>Part of her wondered if this was the sort of helplessness he'd felt taking care of her, and a deep pang of regret ripped through her chest at the thought of it. </p><p>He really did deserve better than what she had to offer him. </p><p>So she’d kissed him instead. It was hesitant at first, a thousand questions hanging unanswered in the space between where their breaths met. <em> I missed you, </em> she tried to say with the eager parting of her lips when he responded to her touch. <em> I’m sorry. </em> </p><p>She’d inhaled deeply as their tongues met, as her teeth scraped his bottom lip, as every meeting of their lips stole the air from his lungs with a quiet moan. Bergamot and musk. Coffee and mint on his breath, cedar scented candles burning on the mantle, comfortable and overwhelming familiarity rekindled by the heat his touch drew from her core. </p><p>It didn’t take long for the clothes to come off after that. Whatever hesitation lingered before dissipated the moment their lips met, and the desperate sound he made when her fingers tangled into his unkempt hair awoke a need in her so fierce she thought she might die from it. </p><p>After all, when things were good, things had been <em> really </em>good. </p><p>They’d met under the shared misery built from the bottom rungs of esoteric academia. She’d overslept and stumbled five minutes late into an Art and Archaeology in Magic lecture, and the desk next to his had been the only open spot. “Saved it just for you,” he’d quipped under his breath as she skidded into her seat and almost knocked over his coffee with her backpack. </p><p>She’d never seen this man before in her life. </p><p>The humor in the corners of his pale blue eyes was infectious as they had their first real conversation in the hallway after class. Mortifyingly, she’d learned he was their professor’s research assistant. “It’s a shame you didn’t actually tip my coffee over,” he’d teased when she apologized. “Then you’d owe me another one.” </p><p>It was a heady rush, the way he effortlessly drew a smile to her lips. “Can I buy you one anyway in case I’m late again on Wednesday?”</p><p>The regret that stirred in her when they stumbled into his bedroom almost pulled tears to her eyes. </p><p>Maker, he’d deserved so, so much more. </p><p>And yet, she couldn’t stop herself as he lifted her shirt over her head, as he kissed her neck and let out a breathy laugh when her necklace tangled in his hair. His hands wandered up her back, fingertips grazing her spine, trailing feather-light touches across her skin.  </p><p><em> Kiss me again, </em> he’d whispered. And they did, again and again as the buttons came undone on his shirt, as the rest of their clothing slowly piled up on the bedroom floor, as they fell together on the mattress, heads hitting pillows with a soft, shared thump. She was drinking him in, every spare moment she’d lost in the last few weeks reclaimed in the soft, gentle heat of skin on skin. </p><p>His palms cupped her rear and she kicked off her underwear. It didn’t matter where they landed. </p><p>Nothing else mattered but this. How had she forgotten? </p><p>She moaned into his mouth when his fingers slipped between her folds, already dripping with need. And just how much she’d <em> needed </em> , too, every night lying awake wishing he were beside her, beneath her, <em> inside </em>her, dearly wishing she could wash her past transgressions away in waves of deep, desperate pleasure. </p><p>Selfish? Maybe. Weren’t they all? </p><p>The first time they’d kissed had almost been an accident. He needed a date for a colleague’s wedding and she was the only person he knew who was free that night. “Yeah, sure,” she’d said when he asked. Casual, noncommittal, excitement buried between layers of carefully collected exterior. They’d maintained a respectful distance from one another during the service, sitting together in comfortable friendship as two strangers bound themselves together at the altar. </p><p>She’d nudged his leg with her knee and snickered when the officiant dropped the ring, and he’d clapped his hand over his mouth to conceal his own snort of laughter. </p><p>It wasn’t until they were a few glasses of champagne down and together on the dance floor that something about that night changed. Maybe it was the expression on his face, the swirling mix of emotions that made meeting his eyes feel like stripping her soul bare in front of him. The music changed, the beat slowing to a sultry sway, and when the distance between their bodies closed, their lips collided also. And when Monday morning rolled around, it was apparent something between them had shifted for him too. </p><p>The threadbare duvet was scratchy beneath her knees as she mounted him, lowering herself on him, eyes closed as she reveled in the slow, sensual way he filled her. Part of her wanted to watch the way his expressions shifted as they moved together, his cock buried again and again in her soft, slick heat as sweat rolled down their faces. She was afraid, though, afraid to meet his eyes, terrified of what else she might see there after so many years of mistakes upon monumental mistakes. </p><p>It hadn’t been until a few days after the wedding that she learned their inadvertently shared history. She didn’t remember him, of course, and he’d barely remembered her. Their lives had been preoccupied by other things then, by endless grey monotony peppered with all of the pain they barely felt until it all came crashing down at once in a hurricane of restored brain activity. Made whole by the same people who’d robbed them of their childhoods. </p><p>Her eyes, he’d admitted then. It was her eyes he recognized, bottomless grey and hollow with too many memories just like the ones he saw every morning in the bathroom mirror. He’d always noticed, she realized, whenever she flinched at the mention of historical Circle abuses during their coursework. The subtle way her nails dug into her thigh when classmates asked insensitive questions about the relationships mages had with their Templar guards and the variety of ways those dynamics were portrayed in art and period media. </p><p>The first time they fucked was on his couch, exactly two minutes after she submitted her final paper while his roommate snored in the next room. Their coupling had been charged with frenetic energy then too, their magic twining around each others’ as they spiraled higher and higher together, filling the room with an ethereal glow that lingered in the air long after they had fallen asleep in each others’ arms. </p><p>She ground her hips against his, heat building and blooming in her core as she squeezed her eyes even tighter and pretended she was in any other timeline but this one she had so royally fucked up. “Please,” she whispered, unsure of what exactly it was she begged for. </p><p>He wrapped his arms around her back and rolled with her, flipping her over so he was bent over her. She opened her eyes just long enough to see his hair fall messily into his face before his lips crashed against hers again. </p><p>The way he fit against her, <em> inside </em>her, dragged knives through her memories. Before she came here, she’d been so sure how little she wanted to see him again, but now? She was unbalanced once more, tossed askew by the whirlwind of sensations unfolding across her body. She could feel herself coming undone, slowly, steadily, breathing shaky as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, felt the desperate cries that fell from her lips as he slipped a hand between them and rubbed her clit with a steady, maddening pressure that dragged her inch by inch to the edge of her cliff. </p><p>She wasn’t sure when their foreheads touched or when he sped up his pace, only that when she tumbled off the edge he fell with her and carried her through her release. She opened her eyes, weighty and persistent guilt momentarily forgotten in the afterglow. His pale irises glowed for a moment, deep and vivid like lyrium, before fading back to their usual color, and <em> Maker, </em>she’d missed that too. Fucking someone else with magic in his blood, basking in the way the air tasted like lightning and smelled faintly of ozone after they both came. </p><p>It would be <em> so easy </em> to stay. To let him carry her through the night the way he used to, to wake up from the memories that played on repeat every night and have a hand to cling to, a shoulder to catch her tears. </p><p>But that wasn’t fair, was it? Every possible outcome if she stayed would lead to further ruin for both of them. </p><p>He felt like a home she had no right to. He was a window to a life she could have had once, maybe a hundred bad decisions ago before the cracks began to run too deep to repair. He was too precious, too good, and she refused to put him through any more of her bullshit no matter how much it hurt to pull away. </p><p>Carefully, she disentangled herself, mechanically layering her clothes back on piece by piece. One by one, she reconstructed her walls, filled in the cracks, stamped down every ounce of what-if that bubbled up in the back of her mind. </p><p>It hurt too much to call this a mistake. </p><p>She wasn’t sure what else it could be. </p><p>Solona took a deep breath and stared at the blunt in her hands that had long since gone cold. How the fuck had it come to this? She drew her legs to her chest on the barstool and hugged her knees tightly, trying to nudge the tears free from the tangled mass of emotion wound tightly through her chest. How did she keep doing this to people? Would she ever be able to weave her way through the world without pulling everyone around her into calamity? </p><p>Anger flashed in her core, white-hot and consuming. She shoved the blunt between her lips and tried to relight it, but the flame flickered twice on her fingertips and fizzled out, another spell lost to the poison trapped beneath her skin. </p><p>“<em>Fuck!</em>” she yelled in frustration. She hopped off of the barstool and kicked it with as much force as she could muster, the overwhelming sense of <em> trapped </em> rising rapidly in her lungs. Razikale hissed from his perch on a pile of dirty laundry and scampered away as the dinged up wooden seat clattered over and left a sizable dent in the drywall. </p><p><em> Breathe. </em> Olivia’s voice, still embedded into her memory in spite of everything. <em> In, out, through the worst of it, </em> she’d said, her clear, calm voice a beacon when the noise drowned out everything else in her path. <em> Eventually you come out on the other side.  </em></p><p>Oh. There were the tears. They fell hot and heavy between her fingers as she buried her face in her hands. They drowned out the ice cold numbness with rage and desperation and <em> regret </em> until she was sitting on the floor gasping from the weight of it. </p><p>And then, as quickly as it came on, her head quieted again until all that was left was the faint buzzing of the shoddy fluorescent kitchen lights and the creaky whistling of the upstairs window unit. Razikale mewed and hopped into her lap, her past transgressions seemingly forgiven as he lifted his tail and proudly presented his butt on full display. </p><p>“Dumbass,” she grumbled, reaching out to scratch him affectionately behind the ears. </p><p>She was in the process of dragging an empty canvas in front of the dent in the wall when the door opened. A muttered curse accompanied the struggle to get the key out of the lock, and then Abby stumbled in, grumbling under her breath as she let it slam behind her. Slumping against the door she rested her head on it, taking a deep breath before she opened her eyes.</p><p>For a moment she looked surprised to see Solona, and then she adjusted the brown paper bag she held so she could reach into it. She withdrew a handle of Bacardi and held it up with a wry smile. “Saw you were out, figured I’d replenish the stash.”</p><p>“You’re my favorite roommate,” Solona told her, a smile briefly managing its way across her face.</p><p>“I’m your only roommate,” Abby deadpanned. She began trying to kick her stilettos off, but stumbled a little in her tight black dress and gave up. After shaking the paper bag loose of an already open bottle of Mackay’s, she wandered instead into the living space and unceremoniously thrusted the handle of rum into Solona’s hands.</p><p>“Yeah that’s what I said. Favorite roommate.” She accepted the handle and twisted the cap. As she took a grateful gulp, Abby flung herself onto the sofa, finally managing to undo the straps of her heels so that she could kick them off. One hit the wall near Solona, and Abby grimaced.</p><p>“My bad.” It was all she said by way of apology, and she opened the bottle of Mackay’s and began drinking.</p><p>Solona snorted. “You too, huh?” She nudged the canvas aside and motioned to the hole in the drywall before straightening the whole setup back out. </p><p>“Our poor walls,” Abby muttered, chuckling after she said it. “Only a few days in and already cracking under the pressure.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry,” Solona reassured her with a lopsided grin. “I lost the security deposit <em> ages </em> ago.” She pointed to the ceiling and floor near her canvases, both surfaces splattered with thick layers of caked on paint that would probably have to be sanded off. </p><p>Idly Abby followed the motion, leaning her head back on the sofa to gaze up at the ceiling. After several long moments spent considering, a hint of a smile played at her lips. “I’m impressed. That’s actually pretty.”</p><p>“Shitty things are, occasionally,” Solona said flatly. She stared longingly at the blunt she’d retrieved from the floor and willed another spark to her fingers, breathing a drawn out sigh of relief when the tip of the leaf finally ignited. </p><p>A strangely wistful sigh left Abby, her eyes fluttering closed as she raised the bottle of whiskey to her lips again. Without opening her eyes she gave a shrug. “So beautiful they blind you, make you forget that they’re shitty. False. All beauty and no substance, or safety.”</p><p>Solona frowned, concern flickering in her chest as she studied the way Abby lay splayed across the couch with careless abandon, fingers clutching the bottle of whiskey a little too tightly. That was an achingly familiar feeling, and seeing the same sentiment on someone else hit a little too close to home. </p><p>“Hey,” she began hesitantly. “This probably isn’t my business, but...are you okay?” </p><p>A sound eerily close to a sob yet somehow still a laugh left Abby. She pulled her laptop towards her and woke it up, then pushed it toward Solona. “I thought he meant it. I thought maybe — just maybe, just <em> once </em> — he could be entirely selfless. For me.”</p><p>Solona studied the article open on the screen, disgust creeping into her expression as she read the headline and skimmed the first few paragraphs. “Ugh. He sounds…” She waved her hand noncommittally and gave up, reaching for the rum again instead. “I hope you didn’t bring up my court cases at that dinner of yours. I stand by what I said. Nothing is worth that level of bullshit.” </p><p>Abby gave a small laugh and shook her head. “No, didn’t have the time. Too busy calling him a liar to talk about court cases.”</p><p>An awkward silence fell, and Solona did what she usually did and drowned the feeling with another deep drink of rum. Abby seemed to be thinking, and before Solona could consider another way to escape any feeling of guilt or regret or awkwardness or whatever the fuck else, a sad, wistful sigh interrupted.</p><p>“Once upon a time he was a dream come true,” Abby mused into the silence, tilting the bottle on her stomach to study its contents. “And I’ll be honest, seeing him when they opened those jailhouse doors for me, his arms ready to hold me, make me feel safe...I remembered that dream. I was so relieved to see him, to think back to the time when he had loved me. When he’d been my world, and I thought I was his.” She let out a snort of contempt and shook her head. “I don’t know if he was always like this, and I was just blinded by dreaming, or if he...changed. Either way, reality is a bitch.”</p><p>Solona felt something clench in her gut. She closed her eyes, remembered the expression on Jowan’s face when she’d left his apartment for the last time. Abby’s words felt uncomfortably familiar, but in her case, Jowan hadn’t been the one who changed. </p><p>She kicked her foot at the floor and scuffed at the tiles angrily. “Fuck reality,” she said finally. “What does it do for us, anyway?” </p><p>Lazily Abby rolled her head on the cushion and met Solona’s gaze. “So far? Made me realize I wasted some of the best years of my life on a completely selfish, narcissistic ass, and kept me from what could have at least been a fun shag with a gorgeous man.” She paused and then waved a hand dismissively. “Oh and I guess there’s that whole ‘mage’ thing to contend with.” At that she laughed, though it turned hollow, as if she couldn’t stop but didn’t actually feel amused.</p><p>“Yeah, I know something about wasted years, alright,” Solona muttered. She caught herself at Abby’s flinch, realizing with a start how guilting that must have sounded out loud. “No, sorry, I just. I know what that’s like, looking at entire pieces of your past you’re never going to get back. I’m sorry about that too, for what it’s worth. No one deserves what that asshole put you through.” She paused, lifted her bottle in the air, and grinned. “I could set his prissy penthouse hotel room on fire. I’ve been told I’m good at that.” </p><p>Abby snorted so hard she choked on her whiskey and began coughing, and when she managed to quiet enough to speak she looked up. “Oh Maker that would be hilarious. All his expensive suits, just <em> poof </em>. The look on his face —” She broke into another stream of laughter peppered with coughs, but as she calmed she shook her head. “I’m so sorry — kaffas, I just waltzed in here and dumped my divorce in your lap. I guess I just...finally feel like it really is over, even if the papers were signed a year ago.” Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she straightened in her seat. “Really though, I — well, thank you for listening this much. I feel raw, and guess I — needed to let it out.”</p><p>Solona stretched and rose to her feet, dropping the remains of her blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table. She motioned to a paint splattered shelf in the corner and flicked her hand lazily, sending out a sweep of force magic to clear the surface of the adjoining table. Brushes, half empty tubes of paint, and a stack of loose papers all scattered to the floor. “Oh, shit.” She glanced back at Abby sheepishly. “Forgot that was all up there. Anyway, being a mage fucking sucks, but have you ever tried painting with magic hands?” </p><p>Abby raised an eyebrow, but seemed curious as she scooted forward to the edge of her seat. “I — haven’t actually, which now that I think about it is almost surprising.” As if realizing that needed an explanation, she shrugged. “My father is an artist, sometimes I’d try painting next to him — badly. But even though he encouraged my magic and me trying art he never suggested combining the two.”</p><p>Solona couldn’t control the grin that broke out on her face at that. She grabbed a dry palette and quickly squeezed out a variety of bold colors before thrusting it into Abby’s hands. “It’s not the most controlled way to paint,” she said as she kicked a second easel open and dragged a reasonably large canvas onto its frame. “But it’s really cathartic. And people tend to frown on casual magic use for anything down here, so. You know. Fuck ‘em double.” </p><p>Abby giggled as she watched the set up, looking over the colors. “Ohh, some of these I recognize. Dad loves color.” She brushed her hair off her shoulders and stretched her fingers, wiggling them as if to prepare. “He’s the reason I’m in Kirkwall. Or rather — back in Kirkwall. The reason I’m here and the reason I left. He was a bit too loud for the Loyalists back in the day.”</p><p>“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Solona mused. She studied the setup for a moment, then reached for the palette. “So the basics of this is stupidly easy. You just—” She pinched a glob of royal blue between her fingers and aimed, reaching for just a ripple of force magic and propelling the paint away from her where it landed on the canvas with a wet splatter. </p><p>The propulsion was weak, far weaker than she’d intended, and she bit back a curse, schooling her expression into something neutral. “Anyway,” she said awkwardly, “that’s all there is to it. You try.” She passed the palette back to Abby and squatted by the jacket she’d thrown to the floor earlier, trying to remember where she’d left her last lyrium pen. She patted the pockets with a frown, sighing in relief when she felt a familiar cylindrical shape. Solona glanced at Abby, who was still studying the colors on the palette with rapt interest. She uncapped the pen, dialed it to the mark Anders had scratched into it, and jammed the needle into her arm before the other woman could notice what she was doing. </p><p>It felt a little silly how self conscious she felt about the pen, especially when she recalled Abby’s first visit to the loft only a handful of weeks ago. She cringed at the memory; Maker, she’d been a mess that day. But her lyrium use that day had been entirely recreational, and <em> entirely </em>voluntary. </p><p>It felt so different, needing it like this for something so fucking basic. </p><p>She scowled, disgusted, and capped the pen with a decisive click before tossing it back on top of her jacket as a familiar flicker of magic sparked back into her veins. </p><p>When she looked back up, Abby was looking at the splatter on the canvas with a thoughtful expression on her face. </p><p>“Oh, this reminds me of Dad’s famous work,” Abby said, giggling as she finally decided and took a pinch of red paint in her fingers. “He said blue for mages, and,” she paused as she aimed and let a small blast of force magic loose, the paint hitting the canvas like an arrow finding its target. “Red for Templars, of course, but,” another pause as she hurled a larger glob of black paint, which landed with a <em> splat </em> between the other two colors. “<em>Black </em> for chaos. He called it ‘Space Between Parallels.’”</p><p>“No fucking way,” Solona breathed. “Your dad is <em> Michael </em> fucking <em> Henderson</em>?” </p><p>She thought back to everything Abby had told her. Fleeing to Tevinter after the Event, growing up a Marcher expat in the Imperium. </p><p><em> I came back because I wanted to make a difference, </em> she’d said. Suddenly a lot of things about Abby began to make sense. </p><p>“Oh, uh — yeah. I don’t tell a lot of people.” One corner of Abby’s mouth tugged up, and then she shrugged. “At least, not here. In the Imperium we were — surrounded by artists, writers, activists. And it’s not like I feel like I’m in his shadow, or anything. Just that here — here it feels like a target. I don’t really need another one on my back.”</p><p>“You’ve got that right,” Solona mused. “They really don’t like him around here. Did you know his art was banned in public schools and blacklisted from almost every gallery here for almost seven years after the Solution was repealed?”</p><p>Abby nodded, a firm look coming into her eyes despite the way she swayed slightly from their drinking. “That piece, actually — ‘Space Between Parallels’ — it was about the Event, and my — my magic had just shown. He’d been so proud of me, and then...” Her voice cracked a little and she shook her head, avoiding Solona’s gaze. “We left in the middle of the night one night, mom and I crammed in the trunk of the car. He gave all our money to someone to let us across the border, to sneak us into the Imperium. He’d had a life here, a blossoming career, the rest of our family — they left it all behind.”</p><p>The silence hung weighty in the air after that. Solona looked at Abby, barefoot, hair askew, dress wrinkled and already splattered with paint. She tried to picture the woman in front of her as a scared little girl stuffed into a trunk. Those stories were painfully commonplace among the Tranquil. The ones who never made it to a border. She shuddered. </p><p>“Shit,” she said finally. She shook her head, studied the splatters. “I’m. Fuck.” Her voice broke momentarily from the weight of it all. “I’m really glad you made it out,” she managed. She dragged her forearm across her eyes and cleared her throat with a light laugh to shake off the vice of emotion that suddenly gripped her insides. “Anyway,” she said finally, forcing a breezy smile to her face, “where the fuck were you when I was in grad school? I wrote a whole paper on that painting when I was in Montsimmard.” </p><p>Abby managed a watery giggle and wiped under one eye. “Maybe your professor would accept a new paper, now. Give you his number, let you two chat, get the whole story about that painting. Dad would love you.” There was a certainty to the way she said it, a soft smile playing at her lips. “He always was collecting strays. Another starving artist to stay up too late with talking over wine about art and — and — life,” she swallowed after saying it, “would make him happy.”</p><p>Solona didn’t know how to respond to that. She’d never given herself the luxury of wanting <em> acceptance </em>. She’d learned that the hard way in Orlais. Magic was more permitted in Montsimmard, slightly more normalized given the city’s colorful history with magic, but she’d felt it keenly there, too. She was a Marcher mage. Everyone knew what that meant. No one would be bold enough to say anything about it aloud, but she’d felt their stares, curious and hungry gazes at her reactions during group discussions. The questions in their eyes burned holes in her heart at every turn. </p><p>Tranquility had marked her, sank its monochrome claws deep into every aspect of her history and nailed her feet to the floor with every step she tried to take. She’d bore that weight here, taken it with her overseas, then dragged it around straight back to the life she so desperately tried to build for herself. </p><p>Jowan was evidence enough of the ripple effect that bullshit had on the people around her. </p><p>She swallowed hard through the lump in her throat and reached for the rum again. “That — I —” She sniffed, cleared her throat, shook away the veil of emotions clouding her vision. “That would be nice,” she said finally. “I’d like that.” </p><p>“We should show this off,” Abby insisted, and she took a few unsteady steps to where her phone lay on the sofa. “He’d love it. Tell him we’re painting with ‘magic hands.’”</p><p>Despite the late hour, and the time difference with the Imperium, Solona watched as Abby lined her phone up until a loud, electronic shutter sounded.</p><p>“Perf,” Abby muttered, and she began typing on her screen for a few moments. As soon as she stopped, though, she froze, her eyes widening with horror. “Oh <em> kaffas </em> — fuck — no!”</p><p>Solona raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“No,” Abby groaned, though it wasn’t clear if she had heard Solona or was just continuing to lament whatever had happened. Slapping a hand to her forehead she closed her eyes and let out a frustrated growl. “I sent it to the wrong fucking person.”</p><p>Solona peered over Abby’s shoulder at the offending text message thread. </p><p>
  <em> Please talk to me, lass. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry for what I said.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I would take it all back if I could.  </em>
</p><p>The picture she’d just taken sat beneath it all in stark, hilarious contrast with the caption, “done with magic hands!” Solona couldn’t help herself. She burst into unrestrained laughter. </p><p>“Oh, <em> shit,</em>” she wheezed. “Is that another ex?”</p><p>Abby glared for a moment, then heaved a bitter sigh. “No, just that foolhardy, too handsome for his own good Starkhavener detective who I would have fucked if he hadn’t — if I hadn’t — if we’d — well, if we’d fucked.” She buried her forehead in her hand again and let out another mournful groan. “Vishante kaffas,” she muttered under her breath.</p><p>“Wait, wait, wait.” Solona plucked the phone from Abby’s hands and stared at the contact name. “<em>MacCallum?</em>” She heaved another laugh, so hard she could barely breathe. “Oh, shit, that’s — sorry, I’m not laughing at you — he’s just —” </p><p>How was she supposed to explain the sheer hilarity of her entanglement with Cullen next to this development? Life had a grand sense of humor. She forced a breath into her lungs and waved the phone in Abby’s face. “Do you still want to fuck him?” </p><p>Abby looked her dead in the eye. “I want to climb that man like a tree. I haven’t been fucked in ages and if the way he kisses is any indication — I’m not sure I’d survive a fuck with him, and honestly it sounds like the best way to go, if you ask me.”</p><p>Solona smirked and began typing. “I — still think — about the way you kissed me—” she narrated as she typed. </p><p>“What? No wait —” Abby made as if to grab the phone, but Solona had the advantage of height and managed to keep it away.</p><p>“No wait, I got it, I got it.” Solona grinned and kept typing, holding the phone just out of Abby’s reach. “I would climb you — like a tree — to have you kiss me like that — everywhere.” She thrust the phone at Abby expectantly. </p><p>“Please, I —” Abby accepted it and glanced down at the screen. “Oh, you didn’t send it.” She stood staring at it, wide-eyed as she considered. After a moment she crossed to where she had left her whiskey and took a long gulp. “Maker, I was so worried you —”</p><p>“Oh, come <em> on,</em>” Solona protested. “I just did all of the work for you. Do you or do you not want to, and I quote, ‘climb that man like a tree,’ end quote?”</p><p>Abby took another sip of the whiskey, and turned a much more thoughtful look to her phone. “Well, I — I do.” She tugged her lip between her teeth and then glanced at Solona. “We left things badly though, and then John and I — I mean, we didn’t sleep together that night. Well we <em> slept </em> but we didn’t fuck. But then again he did send me an email recently, he — he rejected reenlisting…”</p><p><em> He rejected reenlisting with the Templars. </em> Interesting. MacCallum was full of surprises, wasn’t he? She spun the thought around in her head as she watched Abby deliberate in front of her. </p><p>Fuck it, she thought drunkly. One of them was going to find happiness somehow. She snatched the phone back from Abby’s hands, tapped her thumb on the send button, and handed it back to her with a smug grin. “At this rate, we were going to be here all night.” </p><p>Mouth agape, Abby simply stared at her for a moment, seemingly shocked. And then she began laughing...and laughing...until she collapsed back onto the sofa. “Cheers to hopefully getting shagged again sometime soon,” she said, and she held up the bottle of whiskey before she took a long drink.</p><p>Solona grabbed her own bottle and clinked it against Abby’s as she sank down onto the cushions next to her. “I’ll drink to that,” she said. </p><p>Rolling her head to look at Solona, Abby frowned playfully. “So, what can I do to help out your love life? Seems I owe you one. Maybe. I mean if this goes tits up it’s all your fault. If it doesn’t, I was the mastermind behind all of it.”</p><p>Solona snorted, tilting her head back into the cushions thoughtfully. “It’s going to take a lot more than what either of us can dredge up to even start fixing that clusterfuck. I’ll settle for another handle of rum and call it even.” </p><p>“A handle of rum and one aforementioned promised conversation with one Dad, AKA Michael Henderson,” Abby negotiated, holding out a hand as she met Solona’s gaze with mock solemnity. “Final offer.”</p><p>“We have a deal,” Solona said. She grasped Abby’s hand firmly, unable to keep the smile off of her face. “I’d like that a lot.”</p>
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